black is the colour

black is the colour of my true loves hair, her lips are like some roses fair, she has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands, and i love the ground whereon she stands, i love my love and well he knows, i love the ground whereon he goes, i wish that day soon would 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 a thousand times, black is the colour of my true loves hair, her lips are like some roses fair, the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands, and i love the ground whereon she stands, black is the colour of my true loves hair