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 thou not again ?