Black Is the Color

Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair
Her face is something wondrous fair
Her purest eyes and the daintiest hands
I love the ground on which she stands

I love my love and well she knows
I'll follow her where e'er she goes
I'll write her a letter containing these lines
I'll suffer death a thousand times

Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair
Her face is something wondrous fair
Her purest eyes and the daintiest hands
I love the ground on which she stands

I'll go to troublesome to mourn, to weep
But satisfied I ne'er can keep
If she on earth no more would stay
My life would quickly fade away

Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair
Her face is something wondrous fair
The purest eyes and the daintiest hands
I love the grass on which she stands