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:
O 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!
Thomas Hood (1799 – 1845)