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 lass,
    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,
    And 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 a while;
And I will come again ,my luve,
    Tho'    it were ten thousand mile!