A Red, Red Rose Robert Burns
O my luve is like a red, red rose,
Thatâs newly sprung in June;
O my luve is like the melodie
Thatâs sweetly played in tune.
As fair thou art , my bonie lasso,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till aâ the seas gang dry.
Till aâ the seas gang dry, my dear ,
An the rocks melt wiâ the sun;
And I will luve thee still , my dear,
While the sands oâlife shall run.
And fare thee weel,my only luve,
And fare thee weel awhile;
And I will come again, my luve,
thoâit were ten thousand mile!