A Red, Red Rose

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.

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:
O 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 awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
though it were ten thousand mile.
Robert Burns (1796)

(Τραγουδάκι σχεδόν ανοιξιάτικο, λόγω καιρού).