Dost thou exert thy deadly pow'r,
And nip fair beauty's natal hour,
Wi' thy vile breath,
It is when wint'ry storms do low'r,
We look for death.
But thou, thou evil one, hast come,
To bring this wee rose to its doom,
Not i' time of woe and gloom,
But i' the spring,
When flowerets just begin to bloom.