Thursday, June 7, 2007

Poem From The National Poet of Scotland

A Red Red Rose

My luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
My luve is like a 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 the 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 the 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.
Robert Burns 1759-1796

1 comment:

Imani said...

I love poems like this that read like a song. It's funny how all these lines on their own should sound corny and saccharine, but Burns puts them together and they sound sincere and earnest (in the best sense).