that kisses ilka thing it meets.
see yonder rosebud, rich in dew,
amang its native briers sae coy;
how sune it tines its scent and hue,
when pu'd and worn amon toy.
sic fate ere lang shall thee betide,
tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile;
and sune thou shalt be thrown aside,
like onymon weed and vile.