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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:
And I 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.

~Robert Burns




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