A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve is like a red, red rose
      That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
      That’s sweetly played in tune.

So 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 love thee still, my dear,
      While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
      And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
      Though it were ten thousand mile.

—Robert Burns

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photo by Kelly Sauer