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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!

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