A Red, Red Rose

A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
       That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
       That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair are thou, 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:
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!

Robert Burns