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 grounds whereon she stands
I love my love and well she knows
I love the grounds whereon she goes
I wish the day it soon would come
When she and I can be as one
I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep
For satisfied I ne’er can 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
She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the grounds whereon she stands
And I love the grounds whereon she stands