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A Red, Red Rose

by Robert Burns

Robert Burns - Scottish Poet

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 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,
Till a' the seas gang dry,
And I will love thee still my dear,
Till a' the seas run 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,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

Though it were ten thousand mile, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.


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