Oh my luv's like a yellow rose
That in the midsummer mountains dwell.
Oh my luve is a cup o'erflowing —
As water doth from a well.

Oh my luve a melody
That's softly play'd in tune.
Melodies blow over the midsummer mountains
An' o'er my rose in midsummer June.

Oh my luve is beautiful;
An' deep in luve am I.
As a dew on a sweet yellow rose...
So deep in luve am I.

Yes fair are thou, a yellow rose.
So deep in luve am I.
I wilt luve ye still, fair Roseline:
Till a' the seas go dry.

Till the heavens are seven,
Till the universes are three.
Till the rocks melt wi' the sun,
An' till there is not a sea.

I wilt always fall for a yellow rose...
Till poetry is prose.