Ballad.

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!