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Thomas Hood

Time of Roses

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!

 
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About the poet
Thomas Hood
 
By the same poet
The Deathbed
The Bridge of Sighs
Autumn
Silence
Death
Fair Ines
Ruth
 
Related books
Thomas Hood at amazon.com


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