Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin’!
An’ naething now to big a new ane
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s win’s ensuin’,
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary winter comin’ fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past