A-Z POETRY

O my Luve is like a red, red rose
     That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
     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 love thee still, my dear,
     While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
     And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
     Though it were ten thousand mile.