Rose

  a red, red rose
  [hear red, red rose]
  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 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' 'twere ten thousand mile!