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447. Song—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 play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonie 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; And 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’ ’twere ten thousand mile!

Poem by Robert Burns
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