Even tho who mournst the daisies fate, that fate is thine. - Robert Burns

The white moon is setting behind the white wave,
And Time is setting with me, O!

Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sunny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,
All beneath the simmer moon;
Not the poet, in the moment
Fancy lightens in his e'e,
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
That thy presence gi'es to me.

Then gently scan your brother
man,
still gentler sister woman, though they may gang
a kennin wrang, to step aside is human