Black Is The Color (Of My True Love's Hair)
Her lips are like some rose's 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 will come
When she and I could be as one.
I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep,
But satisfied I never could sleep.
I'll write a letter, just a few short lines,
Then suffer death a thousand times.
Black is the color of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some rose's fair,
I love the ground whereon she stands.