But lately seen in gladsome green,The woods rejoic’d the day,Thro’ gentle showers, the laughing flowersIn double pride were gay:But now our joys are fledOn winter blasts awa;Yet maiden May, in rich array,Again shall bring them a’.
But my white pow, nae kindly thoweShall 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!