Black is the color of my true love's hair. Her lips are like some roses fair, And sweetest smile to 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 wish the day some would come, When she and I will be as one.
Black is the color 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 and mourn and weep, But satisfied I never shall be. I write her letters just a few short lines, And suffer death a thousand times.
Black is the color 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.