Celtic folklore - Black is the colour | Текст песни

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• Celtic folklore
• Black is the colour

Now black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
The sweetest smile and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground, whereon she stands.

I love my love and well she knows,
I love the ground, whereon she goes,
I hope the day, will one day come,
When she I will be as one.

Black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
The sweetest smile and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground whereon she stands.

I go to the Clyde for to 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.

Now black is the colour of my true love's hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
The sweetest smile and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground, whereon she stands.


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