BLACK IS THE COLOUR

 

Black is the colour of my true love's hair.
Her lips are like some roses fair
She had 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 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 had the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands.