Black Is The Colour

Well black is the colour of my true love's hair

Her lips are like some rose, so fair

She has the sweetest face, she has 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

And how I wish the day would come

When she and I should be as one

Well I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep

For satisfied I never can be

Well, I write her a letter, just a few short lines

And I suffer death a thousand times

Yes, black is the colour of my true love's hair

Her lips are like some rose, so fair

She has the sweetest face, she has the gentlest hands

And I love the ground whereon she stands