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

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, it soon would come

When she and I could be as one

I go to the Clyde, I mourn and weep

Satisfied, I never can be

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

And suffer death a thousand times

For 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

And I love the ground whereon she stands