IN WINTER. This time of the year When winds are blowing wilder, And night is cold as stone And snow follows rain, My silent proud young wife Less stately seems and kinder, And more the laughing girl she was When to my house she came. A crowd in a man's house Schools a young wife and breaks her Upon a monotonous rein; Oh, but these winter nights Friends sit by their own fire, And manv a delicious wildness takes her. And all a winter's night Is one long delight. Poetry is a dark house The muse brightens for one only; She cannot poke the fire For throngs when winds are outside But shadow falls from her, And he, thrust out of his dream, is lonely For his dark house, His masked and radiant bride. FRANK O'CONNOR Source: Irish Statesman, 1928-01-14