( Traditional )    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    I love my love  And whell he knows  I love the ground whereon he goes  If you know ???  .....    I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep  But satisfied I never can sleep  I'll write him a letter, just a few short lines  I'll 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