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!