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Robert Burns 1759 1796

A Red, Red Rose. 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 bonie 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 d

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Robert Burns 1759 1796

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