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Black is the colour of my true loves hair |
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His lips are like some roses fair |
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She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands |
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And I love the ground whereon he stands |
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I love my love and well she knows |
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I love the ground whereon she goes |
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How I wish that day would soon come |
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When she and I can be as one |
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Black is the colour of my true loves hair |
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His lips are like some roses fair |
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She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands |
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And I love the ground whereons he stands |
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I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep |
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For satisfied I never sleep |
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I write her letters just a few short lines |
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And I suffer death ten thousand times |
