Читать книгу The Blue Poetry Book - Lang Andrew, May Kendall - Страница 33

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 bonnie 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:

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 awhile!

And I will come again, my luve,

Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.