Robert Burns                 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 play'd 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,         Tho' 'tware ten thousand mile! 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 play'd in tune. 1794