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!