Black is the colour of my true love´s hair
Her lips is like some a rose so fair,
The sweetest smile, the gentlest hands
I love the ground whereon she stands

I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes
I wish that day soon come
When she and I will be as one

I go to the Clyde and mourn and weep,
But satisfied I never should be,
I´ll write a letter just a few short lines
I´ll suffer death ten thousand times

Black is the colour of my true love´s hair
Her lips is like some rosy fair,
And the sweetest smile, the gentlest hands
I love the ground whereon she stands