A Red, Red Rose Robert Burns

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 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:
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 awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
     Though it were ten thousand mile.