Rockport Beach Roses

When the Scots poet Robert Burns wrote “My Love is Like a Red, Red, Rose” in 1794, he likely did not envision something as common and prosaic as wild beach roses growing off the rocky coast of Rockport, Massachusetts, pink and white, thriving in the sandy soil, stung by salty breezes.

But, he did mention June, and the seas, and rocks melting with the sun. Close enough.


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