A RED， RED ROSE

　　By 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 thou 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 sea gang dry， my dear，

　　And the rock 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 thousand mile!