O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my luve is like a 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.
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)
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