A Red, Red Rose

　　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 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!

　　By Robert Burns