A Red, Red Rose

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 played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie 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 the weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
     Though it ware ten thousand mile!