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O, my
luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
My
luve is like a melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
So fair thou art, 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:
And I will
luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.
And fare the weel, my only
luve,
And fare the well awhile!
And I will come again, my luve.
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
Poem Index
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