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 and I could be as one.

 

I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep.

For satisfied I neèr can be.

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

And suffer death a thousand times.

 

Black ist he 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 the ground whereon she stands.