Maun ever flow. Must
Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year!
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear: catch
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear
Shoots up its head,
Thy gay green flow'ry tresses shear
For him that's dead!
Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
In grief thy sallow mantle tear!
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air