the winter of life
but tely seen in gdsome green,
the woods rejoic'd the day,
thro' gentle showers, the ughing flowers
in double pride were gay:
but now our joys are fled
on winter bsts 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 es thou not again!