A Red, Red Rose

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Readers:

O my Luve is like a red, red rose 
   That’s newly sprung in June; 
O my Luve is like the melody 
   That’s sweetly played in tune. 

So 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, my dear, 
   And the rocks melt wi’ the sun; 
I will love thee still, my dear, 
   While the sands o’ life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve! 
   And fare thee weel awhile! 
And I will come again, my luve, 
   Though it were ten thousand mile.

© Robert Burns

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