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!