Ballad - 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:
Oh, no—the world was newly crown’d
With flowers when first we met!

’T was 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 snatch’d a damask bud;

And op’d it to the dainty core,
Still glowing to the last.
It was the time of roses,
We pluck’d them as we pass’d.