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 whereon he stands. I love my love and well he knows. I love the ground whereon he goes. I wish that day would soon come. When he and I can be as one. I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep. For satisfied I never sleep. I write him letters just a few short lines. And I suffer death ten 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 whereon he stands. I love the ground whereon he stands. I love I love I love the ground whereon he stands