That in trim gardens takes his pleasure.
Thy one brief parting pang may show:
And withering thoughts for soul that dashes,
From deep to deep, are but a death more slow.
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Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze an' lace;
Though faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
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RGB: 8 8 7
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RGB: 13 13 13
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RGB: 179 85 27
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RGB: 227 185 34
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RGB: 255 255 255
A swarm of young midges, they dance high and low;
'Tis a sweet little species that lives but one hour,
And the eldest was born half an hour ago.
