A-clad in robes as white as snow.
What then? could I so low
Look out a meäte ov higher steäte
So gaÿ 'ithin a pillar'd geäte,
Wi' high walls round the smooth-mow'd ground?
Oh, no! my heart, no, no.
Long years stole by, a-glidèn slow,
Wi' winter cwold an' zummer glow,
An' she wer then a widow, clad
In grey; but comely, though so sad;