A 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 play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, 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;
I will luve thee still my Dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare the weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile!
- Robert Burns -
(1759-1796) |
