Black Is the Color

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 where on she stands

I go to the Clyde

Where 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 where on she stands

I love my love and well she knows

I love the ground where on she goes

And I wish the day it soon would come

When she and I could be as one