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 and I could be as one.



I go the Clyde and I mourn and weep

For satisfied I never 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 ground whereon she stands