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!
