BUT lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoicd 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 Times wintry rage.
Oh, Age has weary days,
And nights o sleepless pain:
Thou golden time, o Youthfu prime,
Why comes thou not again!
