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！
