( Traditional )
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Black is the color of my true love¡¯s hair
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His face is like some wondrous fair
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With the prettiest face and the neatest hands
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I love the ground whereon he stands
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I love my love
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And whell he knows
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I love the ground whereon he goes
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If you know ???
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.....
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I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
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But satisfied I never can sleep
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I'll write him a letter, just a few short lines
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I'll suffer death one thousand times
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Black is the color of my true love's hair
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His face is like some wondrous fair
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With the prettiest face and the neatest hands
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I love the ground whereon he stands
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Black is the color
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| Espers |
