O, my love is like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June
O, my love's like a melody
That's sweetly played in tune

As fair art thou, my bonnie lad
So deep in love am I
And I will love thee still, my dear
Till a' the seas go dry

Till a' the seas go dry, my

The warm sun is failing,
the bleak wind is wailing,
The bare boughs are sighing;
the pale flowers are dying,

Come months, come away,
From November to May,
In your saddest array;
Follow the bier
Of the dead, cold year,

The chill rain is falling;
the nig

Vvelios
Santerio,
Sa
Santareo aa

Silar Ieqo
Tilureo ar
To sainteri ar
O-leriam

Sa doles to le vvaielim
Rraielim
A Silar,
Le torpem o

A Silar
Kole
Sa a vvils
le il o

Do, do, do,
Foliore
Aelo aen
Santerio

Lo

Green are the rashes, O;
Green are the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
In hands of lasses, O.

The war'ly

I saw thee weep - the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:

I see thee smile - the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays
That filled that glance of thine.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I

When will the stream be aweary of flowing
Under my eye?
When will the wind be aweary of blowing
Over the sky?
When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting?
When will the heart be aweary of beating?
And nature die?

Never, O, never, nothing will die;
The stream flow

In misty dreams and shadowed memories
Of fabled cities I have dwelt apace-
And from strange lakes set round with Guardian Trees
Have slacked my thirst, and scornful of the face
Of harshful reality have stooped to trace
Dark figures on the sands of alien quays.

In crysta

It was a bright and cheerful afternoon,
Towards the end of the sunny month of June,
When the north wind congregates in crowds
The floating mountains of the silver clouds

From the horizon - and the stainless sky
Opens beyond them like eternity.
All things rejoiced beneat

Seven stars in the still water,
And seven in the sky;
Seven sins on the King's daughter,
Deep in her soul to lie.

Roses are at her feet,
(Roses are red in her red-gold hair)
And O where her bosom and girdle meet
Red roses are hidden there.

Fair is the knight w

Upon the edge of forest green,
Perchance you've walked, you may have seen,
Tiny rings of cloverleaf,
And dared not wonder what's beneath.

Well I shall tell you of a tale,
That happened neath a moon so pale,
I walked along where none could see,
By Druids font, and ta

This little bowl is like a mossy pool
In a Spring wood, where dogtooth violets grow
Nodding in chequered sunshine of trees;
A quiet place, still, with the sound of birds,

Where, though unseen, is heard the endless song
And murmur of the never resting sea.
'T was winter,

It's the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.

There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
And grass in the green f

It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard-
It is the hour - when lovers' vows
Sweet in every word
They seem sweet in every whispered word.

And gentle winds and waters near
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly

It was a winter such as when birds die
In the deep forests; and the fishes lie
Stiffened in the translucent ice, which makes
Even the mud and slime of the warm lakes
A wrinkled clod as hard as brick; and when,
Among their children, comfortable men
Gather about great fires