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A Red, Red Rose
O my luve's like a red, red rose. That's newly sprung in June; O my luve's like a melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will love 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, Tho' it were ten thousand mile! Robert Burns