A Red, Red Rose

Robert Burns(1759~1796)

O My Luve's like a red, red rose

That's newly spring in June;

O my Luve's like the melodie

That's seweetly played in tune

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep 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 rocks melt wi' the sun;

O 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 awhil!

And I will come again, my love

Though it were ten thousand mile.