A RED, RED ROSE

Robert Burns 1759-96

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 art thou, 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.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,

And fare thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.

Burns the Scottish poet and lyricist, also known as The Ploughman Poet and The Bard of Ayrshire, is generally acknowledged as the national poet of Scotland.

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