Black is the colour of my true love's hair, 

His lips are like some roses fair, 

He has the sweetest smile, 

And the gentlest hands, 

And I love the ground where on he stands. 



I love my love and well, he knows. 

I love the ground where on he goes. 

How I wish that day would soon come, 

When he and I can be as one. 



I go to the Clyde and I mourn and wait, 

For satisfied I never sleep, 

I write him letter, just a few short ones, 

And I suffer death then thousand times. 



Black is the colour of my true loves hair, 

His lips are like some roses fair, 

He has the sweetest smile, 

And the gentlest hands, 

And I love the ground where on he stands 



I love the groud where on he stands, 

I love, I love, I love the ground, where on he stands.