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!