by Robert Burns
My love is like a red red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
My love is like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And (farewell to you) fare thee weel, my only love
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my love,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.