But lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoic’d the day,
Thro’ gentle showers, the laughing flowers
In double pride were gay:
But now our joys are fled
On winter blasts awa;
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring them a’.
But my white pow, nae kindly thowe
Shall melt the snaws of Age;
My trunk of eild, but buss or beild,
Sinks in Time’s wintry rage.
Oh, Age has weary days,
And nights o’ sleepless pain:
Thou golden time, o’ Youthfu’ prime,
Why comes thou not again!