Black Is The Colour

Black is the Colour of My True Love's Hair
    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 no more on earth 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 go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep,
    But satisfied I never could sleep.
    I'll write to you 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, the neatest hands,
    I love the ground whereon he stands.