A Red, Red Rose


O my Luve is like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June:

O my Luve is 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 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.