Bucolic Poem 11

Oh my love is like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June;

Oh my love is like the melody,

That's sweetly sung in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I;

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till all the seas gone dry.

Till all the seas gone dry, my love,

And the rocks melt with the sun;

And I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands of life shall run.

And fare-thee-will, my only love

And fare-thee-will, a while;

And I will come again, my love,

Though it were ten thousand miles.

Oh my love is like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June;

Oh my love is like the melody,

That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I;

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till all the seas gone dry.

Till all the seas gone dry, my dear

Till all the seas gone dry;

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till all the seas gone dry.