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Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1639/When Roses Blow

WHEN ROSES BLOW.

It was the time when roses blow,
The sweetest time in all the year;
'Twas when the sun was red and low,
And when the skies were warm and clear.
I met a maiden by the gate
That led into a field of corn;
To see her I was proud to wait.
For fairer girl was never born.

I saw a blush upon each cheek,
A bashful gleam was in her eye;
I'd yearned to see her, hear her speak,
Soon as the day began to die.
For love its secret longs to hide
Beneath green leaves when day's no more
And when its faltering words have died,
It turns its idol to adore.

We lingered long beside the gate.
And all our love was slowly told —
Until the happy hours grew late
And stars appeared like drops of gold.
Rare odours seemed with us to stay,
Faint music reached us from a rill;
We loved the night more than the day.
So lone, so beautiful, and still!

Night is the time for love to spring
Beneath a blue and star-lit sky;
When every zephyr seems to ring
With music as it wantons by.
Then hearts in union gladly beat.
And eyes with rarest brightness glow;
For there's no other time so sweet
For love, as that when roses blow!

H.
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