Classic Poem

But lately seen in gladsome green
The woods rejoiced 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!