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Thomas Hood - "It Was Not In The Winter"
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It was not in the Winter 
Our loving lot was cast; 
It was the Time of Roses,— 
We plucked them as we passed! 
That churlish season never frown`d 
On early lovers yet:— 
Oh, no—the world was newly crown`d 
With flowers when first we met! 
`Twas twilight, and I bade you go, 
But still you held me fast; 
It was the Time of Roses,— 
We pluck`d them as we pass`d.— 
What else could peer thy glowing cheek, 
That tears began to stud? 
And when I ask`d the like of Love, 
You snatched a damask bud; 
And oped it to the dainty core, 
Still glowing to the last.— 
It was the Time of Roses,— 
We plucked them as we pass`d!
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