Well black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some rose, so fair
She has the sweetest face, she has 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
And how I wish the day would come
When she and I should be as one

Well I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep
For satisfied I never can be
Well, I write her a letter, just a few short lines
And I suffer death a thousand times

Yes, black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some rose, so fair
She has the sweetest face, she has the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands