Sunday Poem

Time of Roses by Thomas Hood

It was not in the Winter
Our loving lost 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!

from Bartleby

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