O my luve* is like
a red, red
rose,
That’s newly sprung in June,
O my luve is like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou* , my
bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’* the seas gang*
dray.
And fare thee wel, my only
luve,
And fare thee wel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile!
Robert Burns (۱۷۵۹ – ۱۷۹۶)
(luve= love; thou=
you; a’=all; gang=go)
p n:
shaer irlandi boode v be old english
neveshte. bara hamine k love ro b sorate luve v you ra thee neveshte.
in dars 2 hafte pish kelas daramad2
bood, kheili khosham amad azash.
dar 2 khat akharesh ham mige: man
khaham amad, hata age hezaran mile azam door bashi!
ey kkoda bazam khodet
havaye ma ro dashte bash…