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!