Black Is the Colour

Black is the colour of my true love's hair,

Her lips are like some roses fair,

She has the sweetest smile, And the gentlest hands,

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, it soon would come,

When she & I could be as one.

I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep,

For satisfied, I ne'er can be,

I 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,

She has the sweetest smile, And the gentlest hands,

I love the ground, Whereon she stands.