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 frowned
On early lovers yet!
Oh no--the world was newly crowned
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 plucked them as we passed!
Thomas Hood
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