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The Rose
The 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 played in tune .
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 .
Till a' seas gang dry, my dear ,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun ;
O I will luve thee still, my dear ,
While the sands o'life shall run .
And fare thee well , my only luve ,
And fare thee weel awhile !
And I will come again , my luve .
Though it were ten thousand mile.
- by Robert Burns
