Time of Roses

By Thomas Hood

It was not in the Winter

 Our loving lot was cast;

It was the time of roses—

 We pluck’d them as we pass’d!

That churlish season never frown’d

 On early lovers yet:

O 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!