Black Is The Colour

Black is the colour of my true love's hair

his lips are like some roses fair

has the sweetest face and the neatest hands

I love the ground where on he stands

I love my love and well he knows

I love the ground where on he goes

I wish the day it soon would come

when he and I could be as one

I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep

for satisfied I neer can be

I write him a letter, just a few short lines

and suffer death a thousand times

I love my love and well he knows

I love the ground where on he goes

I wish the day it soon would come

when he and I could be as one