A Red, Red Rose

A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns

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 bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,
Till aw the seas gang dry.

Till aw 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!