O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, 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 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 it were ten thousand mile !

bonie: bonnie, pretty
luve: love
till: to
a': all
gang: go
wi': with
o': of

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ae fareweel, and then forever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; 
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy; 
But to see her was to love her; 
Love but her, and love forever. 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met--or never parted-- 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ae fareweel, alas, forever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee !

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 
I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 
The lassie I lo'e best: 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 
And monie a hill between; 
But day and night may fancy's flight 
Is ever wi' my Jean. 
  
I see her in the dewy flowers, 
I see her sweet and fair: 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
I hear her charm the air: 
There's not a bonnie flower that springs 
By fountain, shaw, or green; 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 
But minds me o' my Jean.

a': all
wi: with
tunefu': tuneful
bonnie: pretty

Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 
The measur'd time is run ! 
The wretch beneath the dreary pole 
So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 
Shall poor Sylvander hie; 
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light, 
The sun of all his joy ? 

We part-but by these precious drops, 
That fill thy lovely eyes, 
No other light shall guide my steps, 
Till thy bright beams arise ! 

She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
Has blest my glorious day; 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 
My worship to its ray ?

Fair the face of orient day, 
Fair the tints of op'ning rose; 
But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
More lovely far her beauty shows. 

Sweet the lark's wild warbled lay, 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear; 
But, Delia, more delightful still, 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flower-enamour'd busy bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip. 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove; 
O let me steal one liquid kiss, 
For Oh! my soul is parch'd with love.

From thee, Eliza, I must go, 
And from my native shore; 
The cruel fates between us throw 
A boundless ocean's roar: 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 
Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 
My heart and soul from thee. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 
The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 
We part to meet no more ! 
But the latest throb that leaves my heart, 
While Death stands victor by, - 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 
And thine that latest sigh !

Robert Burns  (°1759; †1796)