A Red, Red Rose

O, my love is like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O, my love is like the melody
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
Till all the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun!
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only love,
And fare thee well a while!
And I will come again, my love,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!

Robert Burns.

[58] gang: go.