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 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 well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
More verses by Robert Burns
- 148. To Miss Logan, With Beattie's Poems
- Elegy On The Death Of Robert Ruisseaux
- Elegy On Willie Nicol's Mare
- Willie Brew'D A Peck O' Maut
- Impromptu On Dumourier's Desertion Of The French Republican Army