A Red,Red Rose

By 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 sea gang dry, my dear,

And the rock 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's it were ten thousand mile!