Black is the colour of my true love's 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 she knows I love the ground wherone she goes I wish the day soon would come When she and I will be as one <♪> I go to the Clybe and mourn and weep But satisfied I never shall be I'll write her a letter just a few short lines and suffer death a thousand times Black is the colour of my true love's 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