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 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;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
--Robert Burns
