An' bleak December's winds ensuin',
Baith snell an' keen! bitter
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
Out thro' thy cell.
That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble stubble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!