| Black, black, black | |
| Is the color of my true love's hair | |
| Her lips are like a rose so fair | |
| And the prettiest face and the neatest hands. | |
| I love the grass whereon she stands | |
| She with the wondrous hair. | |
| Black, black, black | |
| Is the color of my true love's hair | |
| Her face is something truly rare. | |
| Oh I do love my love and so well she knows | |
| I love the ground whereon she goes. | |
| She with the wondrous hair. | |
| Black, black, black | |
| Is the color of my true love's hair | |
| Alone, my life would be so bare. | |
| I would sigh, I would weep, | |
| I would never fall asleep | |
| My love is 'way beyond compare | |
| She with the wondrous hair. | |
| Black, black, black | |
| Is the color of my true love's hair |
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