Robert Burns

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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 bield,
  Sinks in time’s wintry rage.
Oh, age has weary days,
  And nights o’ sleepless pain!
Thou golden time o’ youthfu’ prime,
  Why com’st thou not again?