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 ground on which she stands.
I love my love and whell she knows
I'll follow her where'er she goes.
I will 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
The 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.