A Red, Red Rose

I

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 play'd in tune.

II

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I,

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry.

III

Take 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.

IV

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!

Robert Burns (1759-1796)