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 played in tune.
So 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,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
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.