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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!