Black Is the Color
Black is the color of my true love hair
His face is like some wondrous fair
With the prettiest face and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands
I love my love
And well he knows
I love the ground whereon he goes
If you know mark on earth I see
I counciled you as you have me
I go to the clyde for to mourn and weep
But satisfied I never can sleep
I write him a letter just a few short lines
I suffer death one thousand times
black is the color of my true love's hair
His face is like some wondrous fair
With the prettiest face and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands