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Black is the color of my true love's hair;
Her lips are like roses fair;
She's the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground on where she stands.
I love my love, and well she knows.
I love the ground on where she goes.
I wish the day, it soon would come;
When me and her can be as one.
Black is the color of my true love's hair;
Her lips are like roses fair;
She's the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground on where she stands.
I go to Clyde, and I mourn and weep;
For satisfied, I never can be.
And I write her a letter, just a few short lines;
And suffer death, a thousand times!
Black is the color of my true love's hair;
Her lips are like the roses fair;
She's the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands,
And I love the ground on where she stands!
And I love the ground on where she stands!