A RED, RED ROSE
by Robert Burns

(25th of January 1759 - 21st of July 1796)

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 thee weel awhile !
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho´ it were ten thousand mile.

(from The Complete Works of Robert Burns, MacMillan and Co 1870)