A Red，Red Rose

Robert Burns

O my luve is like a red，red rose，

That’s newly sprung in June；

O my luve is like the melodie，

That’s sweetly played in tune．

As fair tHUO art，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；

And 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 a while；

And I will come again，my luve，

Tho’s it were ten tHUOsand mile！