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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 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 :
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. |
