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' the seas gang dry.
And the rocks will 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 were ten thousand mile
Robert Burns
1759-1796
