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Black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
Has the sweetest smile
and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands
I love my love, and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes
I wish the day soon would come
When she and I will be as one
I go to the Clyde and mourn and weep
But satisfied I never shall be
I'll write her a letter just a few short lines
and suffer death a thousand times
Black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
Has the sweetest smile
and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands
