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But lately seen, in gladsome green, The woods rejoic'd the day ; Through 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 powl, nae kindly thowe Shall melt the snaws of age ! My trunk of eild, but buss or beild, Sinks in time's wintry rage. O age has weary, weary days And nights o' sleepless pain! Thou golden time o' youthful prime, Why [comes]1 thou not again ?
About the headline (FAQ)
View text without footnotesConfirmed with The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Cambridge edition, Boston and New York, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1897, page 261.
Glossary:
powl = head; thowe = thaw; eild = old age; buss = bush; beild = shelter
Text Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "The winter of life" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by (Franz) Joseph Haydn (1732 - 1809), "The death of the linnet", Hob. XXXIa:138bis, JHW XXXII/3 no. 207. [text verified 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , title 1: "L'hiver de la vie", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Ferdinando Albeggiani , Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website: 2009-06-14
Line count: 16
Word count: 92
On voyait depuis peu, vêtus d'un vert guilleret, Les bois égayer le jour ; Les fleurs radieuses sous les aimables pluies Étaient doublement fières et gaies ; Mais maintenant nos joies se sont envolées Avec les rafales de l'hiver, Pourtant demoiselle Mai dans ses beaux atours Les ramènera toutes à nouveau. Mais sur ma tête blanche, aucun gracieux dégel Ne fera fondre les neiges de l'âge ! Mon tronc de grand âge, sans arbuste ni abri, S'affaisse au temps des colères hivernales. Ô la vieillesse a des jours usants, usants Et de douloureuses nuits sans sommeil ! Temps doré de la première jeunesse, Pourquoi ne reviens-tu pas ?
Text Authorship:
- Translation from Scottish (Scots) to French (Français) copyright © 2014 by Pierre Mathé, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in Scottish (Scots) by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "The winter of life"
This text was added to the website: 2014-11-10
Line count: 16
Word count: 103