Black is the colour

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.

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