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!