![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlyeqarbTSMUOBZGPOyiVDUO77eRfauzyBFcvQZo8y_-nusjgFSH9I10ohtHHTXxArJ59vN-xPkNbxi7APohWBJq6aP0fybQX8E6cnW5ECc-iJ2moH9zXSKqSYOR9yWGljUeWeAacNi_k/s320/200px-Robert_burns.jpg)
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!
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