This is for you, my love

O my luve's like a red, red rose.

That's newly sprung in June;

O my luve's like a melodie

That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve 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:

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 Bruce