Ii

Summer never was, was always winter only; Cold and ice and frost Only, driven by the ice-wind, lonely, In a world of strangers, in the welter Of the puddles and the spiteful wind and sleet, Blinded by the spitting hailstones, lost In a bitter unfamiliar street, I found a doorway, crouched there for just shelter, Crouched and fought in vain for breath, Cursed the cold and wished for death; Crouched there, gathered somehow warmth to sleep; Slept and dreamed there. Summer was the dream.

THE POINT OF VIEW: II.