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,

  whyes thou not again!