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 wre ten thousand mile!
