A Red, Red Rose
Robert Burns
O my luve is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my luve is like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.
As fair thou art , my bonie lasso,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear ,
An the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
And I will luve thee still , my dear,
While the sands o’life shall run.
And fare thee weel,my only luve,
And fare thee weel awhile;
And I will come again, my luve,
tho’it were ten thousand mile!