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A red, red Rose by Robert Burns (1759 ¡ 1796) O, MY Love¡¯s like a red, red rose, That¡¯s newly sprung in June: O, my Love¡¯s like the melodie, That¡¯s sweetly play¡¯d in tune. As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in love 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 love thee still, my dear, While the sands o¡¯ life shall run. And fare-thee-weel, my only Love! And fare-thee-weel, a while! And I will come again, my Love, Tho¡¯ ¡¯twere ten thousand mile!
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¢Ü~ The rose
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