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A Red, Red Rose
By: Robert Burns  (1759-1796)

Oh my Luve's like a red, red rose,
  That's newly sprung in June;
Oh my Luve's like the melodie,
  That's sweelty 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
  And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will love 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' it were ten thousand mile