A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
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!
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