I br br There was never winter, summer only: roses, br Pink and white and red, br Shining down the warm rich garden closes; br Quiet trees and lawns of dappled shadow, br Silver lilies, whisper of mignonette, br Cloth-of-gold of buttercups outspread; br Good gold sun that kissed me when we met, br Shadows of floating clouds on sunny meadow. br In the hay-field, scented, grey, br Loving life and love, I lay; br By fresh airs blown, drifted into sleep; br Slept and dreamed there. Winter was the dream. br br II br br Summer never was, was always winter only; br Cold and ice and frost br Only, driven by the ice-wind, lonely, br In a world of strangers, in the welter br Of the puddles and the spiteful wind and sleet, br Blinded by the spitting hailstones, lost br In a bitter unfamiliar street, br I found a doorway, crouched there for just shelter, br Crouched and fought in vain for breath, br Cursed the cold and wished for death; br Crouched there, gathered somehow warmth to sleep; br Slept and dreamed there. Summer was the dream.