O my Luve's like a red, red rose
Robert Burns, 1786

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.