Author: Robert Burns
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 thou art, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love 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 love thee still, my Dear
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!
0 comments:
Post a Comment