Black Is The Colour

Oh black is the colour of my true love's hair

His face is softly, wonder's fair

The prettiest eyes and the neatest hands

I love the ground whereon he stands

I love my love and well he knows

I love the ground whereon he goes

You on earth, no more I see

I can't serve you as you have me

The winter's passed and the leaves are green

Time has passed that we have seen

But still I hope the time will come

When you and I shall be as one

I go to the Clyde for to mourn, to weep

For satisfied I never can sleep

I write to you in a few little lines

And suffer death ten thousand times

Oh black is the colour of my true love's hair

His face is soft, wonder's fair

The prettiest hopes and the neatest hands

I love the ground whereon he stands