the winter of life

　　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!