( Traditional )



Black is the color of my true love's hair

His face is like some wondrous fair

With the prettiest face and the neatest hands

I love the ground whereon he stands



I love my love

And whell he knows

I love the ground whereon he goes

If you know ???

.....



I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep

But satisfied I never can sleep

I'll write him a letter, just a few short lines

I'll suffer death one thousand times



Black is the color of my true love's hair

His face is like some wondrous fair

With the prettiest face and the neatest hands

I love the ground whereon he stands