Black is the colour of my true love's hair
his lips are like a rose so fair
his, the purest eyes and the strongest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands

I love my love and well he knows
that I love the ground on where he goes
and still I hope that the time will come
when he and I will be as one

Black is the colour of my true love's hair
his face so soft and wond'rous fair
his, the purest eyes and the strongest hands
I love the ground on where he stands

I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep
for satisfied I may never be
I write him a letter, just a few short lines
and suffer death ten-thousand times