Black is the colour of my true love's hair, Her lips are like some roses fair, She's the sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands, And I love the ground whereon she stands.
I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep, For satisfied I never can be. I wrote her a letter, just a few short lines, And suffer death a thousand times.
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 wish the day it soon would come, When she and I could be as one.