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 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 & I could be as one.

I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep,
For satisfied, I ne'er can be,
Then I write her a letter, just a few short lines,
And suffer death, a thousand times.

For 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 ground, whereon she stands.

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