Black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like a rose so fair
She's got the sweetest face and 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 whish the day would come
when she and I can be as one

I go to the Clyde and mourn and weep
satisfied I never will sleep
I 'll write her a letter, just a few short lines
And suffer death ten thousand times