BALLAD.

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!