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 bonnie 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 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 well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

by Robert Burns

Comments (24)

The poem is about the notorious unreliability of weather forecasting, and the forecasters refusal to admit it, across generations of soliciting huge amounts of government money. Now they have satellites and vast computers they are much better than they used to be, but for a century they forecast utter tosh, at vast expense to the public.
this is really beautiful- tons of different interpretations. my first impression, and that of (i presume) many other readers, was that the Great Forecaster was God. It seems that the author was an atheist, or even a questioning believer, looking into the future to find God trapped in hell, stripped of immortality and omnipotence.
Usually never right -weather-people
Forecasting the weather back then was as if. Remembering, Katherine Hepburn's house on the upper east coast. Like a Judge with a defendant before you. Do you punish or save those before you......iip
What a fair weather poem, cloudy with a chance of brilliance. Great, great write! Is it safe to set sail today?
See More