But pleasures are like poppies spread, you seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; or like the snow falls in the river, a moment white - then melts fore… - Robert Burns

But pleasures are like poppies spread, you seize the flower, its bloom is shed

Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu' o' care! Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons thro' the flowering thorn! Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed never to return.

My heart is sair-I dare na tell,
My heart is sair for Somebody.

John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw, But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo!