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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.
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 it soon would come
When she and I could be as one

I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep
For satisfied I ne'er 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 had the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands.

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