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 as 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 love thess till, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.