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 thee still， my dear，

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee well， my only luve！

And fare thee weel， awhile！

And I will come again， my luve，

Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.