Three Poems of Thomas Hood , opus 10

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]1!

[That]2 churlish season never frown'd
  On early lovers yet:
O no - the world was newly crown'd
  With flowers [when first we]3 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!

The Autumn skies are flush'd with gold,
And fair and bright the rivers run;
These are but streams of winter cold,
And painted mists that quench the sun.

In secret boughs no sweet birds sing,
In secret boughs no bird can shroud;
These are but leaves that take to wing,
And wintry winds that pipe so loud.

'Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms
That on the cheerless valleys fall,
The flowers are in their grassy tombs,
And tears of dew are on them all.

A lake and a fairy boat
To sail in the moonlight clear, -
And merrily we would float 
From the dragons that watch us here!

Thy gown should be snow-white silk,
And strings of orient pearls,
Like [gossamers]1 dipp'd in milk,
Should twine with thy raven curls!

Red rubies should deck thy hands,
And diamonds should be thy dow'r -
But Fairies have broke their wands,
And wishing has lost its pow'r!