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 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:
I will love 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!