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 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 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

I love the grounds whereon she stands