Black is the Colour

But black is the colour of my true love's hair,

His face is like some rosy fair;

The prettiest face and the neatest hands,

I love the ground whereon he stands.

I love my love and well he knows,

I love the ground whereon he goes.

If you on earth no more I see,

I can't serve you as you have me.

The winter's passed and the leaves are green,

The time is passed that we have seen,

But still I hope the time will come

When you and I shall be as one.

I'll go to the Clyde to mourn and weep,

But satisfied I never could sleep.

I'll write to you in a few short lines,

I'll suffer death ten thousand times.

So fare you well, my own true love,

The time has passed, but I wish you well;

But still I hope the time will come

When you and I will be as one.

I love my love and well he knows,

I love the ground whereon he goes.

The prettiest face and the neatest hands,

I love the ground whereon he stands.