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
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.