O my love's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
O my love's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
A fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I;
And I will love 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:
O I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only love,
And fare thee well awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
By Robert Burns
1759–1796
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