O my [Luve's]1 like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June: O my [Luve's]1 like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, [So]2 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 a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
Five songs , opus 13
by Arthur Foote (1853 - 1937)
1. O my luve's like a red, red rose  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: Scottish (Scots)
Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- SWG Swiss German (Schwizerdütsch) (August Corrodi) , "Min schatz ist wienes Röseli", first published 1870
- CZE Czech (Čeština) (Josef Václav Sládek) , "Má milá jest jak růžička"
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , copyright © 2019, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GRE Greek (Ελληνικά) [singable] (Christakis Poumbouris) , "Η π’ αγαπώ ’ναι ρόδο ροζ", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- HUN Hungarian (Magyar) (József Lévay) , "Szerelmem, mint piros rózsa..."
- IRI Irish (Gaelic) [singable] (Gabriel Rosenstock) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Note: due to a similarity in first lines, Berg's song O wär' mein Lieb' jen' Röslein roth is often erroneously indicated as a translation of this poem.
1 Beach and Scott: "Luve is"; Bacon: "love's"2 Scott: "Sae"
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Iain Sneddon [Guest Editor]
2. I'm wearin' awa', John  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
I'm wearin' awa', John, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, I'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, John, There's neither cauld nor care, John, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, John, She was baith gude and fair, John, And oh! we grudg'd her sair To the Land o' the leal. But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, And joy's a-comin' fast, John, The joy that's aye to last In the land o' the leal. Sae dear that joy was bought, John, Sae free the battle fought, John, That sinfu' man e'er brought To the land o' the leal. Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John, My saul langs to be free, John, And angels beckon me To the land o' the leal. Oh! haud ye leal and true, John, Your day it's wearin' thro', John, And I'll welcome you To the land o' the leal. Now fare ye weel, my ain John, This warld's cares are vain, John, We'll meet, and we'll be fain, In the land o' the leal.
Authorship:
- by Carolina Oliphant, Lady Nairne (1766 - 1845), "The Land o' the leal"
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Air: "Hey tutti taiti."Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
3. Love took me softly by the hand  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: English
Love took me softly by the hand, Love led me all the country o'er, And showed me beauty in the land, That I had never seen before Never before, Never before, O Love, sweet Love! sweet Love! There was a glory in the morn, There was a calmness in the night, A mildness in the southwind borne, That I have never felt aright Never aright, Never aright, O Love, sweet Love! But now it cannot pass away, I feel it wheresoe'er I go, It cannot, cannot pass away, I feel it wheresoe'er I go, And in my heart by night and day Its gladness moveth to and fro: By night and day, By night and day, O Love, sweet Love! O Love, sweet Love!
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]4. Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin, That never has known the barber's shear, All your wish is woman to win; This is the way that boys begin: Wait till you come to forty year. Curly gold locks cover foolish brains; Billing and cooing is all your cheer -- Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, Under Bonnybell's window panes: Wait till you come to forty year. Forty times over let Michaelmas pass; Grizzling hair the brain doth clear; Then you know a boy is an ass, Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you have come to forty year. Pledge me round; I bid ye declare, All good fellows whose beards are gray, Did not the fairest of the fair Common grow and wearisome ere Ever a month was pass'd away? The reddest lips that ever have kiss'd, The brightest eyes that ever have shone, May pray and whisper and we not list, Or look away and never be miss'd, Ere yet ever a month is gone. Gillian's dead! God rest her bier -- How I loved her twenty years syne! Marian's married; but I sit here, Alone and merry at forty year, Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine.
Authorship:
- by William Makepeace Thackeray (1811 - 1863), as Mr. M. A. Titmarsh, no title, appears in Rebecca and Rowena
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]5. If you become a nun, dear
Language: English
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