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Poem by Thomas Hood

Time of Roses

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!

Thomas Hood

Thomas Hood's other poems:
  1. Written in Keats' УEndymionФ
  2. The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
  3. Song (The stars are with the voyager)
  4. Ode on a Distant Prospect of Clapham Academy
  5. Ballad (She's up and gone, the graceless girl)

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