WINTER Love's equinoctial gales are past, the path Along the long lanes leads again through night. The trees are bare, the air A halo round each lamp. Gentlest imaginable groundswell heaving Hardly disturbs the wrack. The wave that broke Over us both, has passed, And now the calm succeeds. And now the fire's the focus of the room By winter made so. Like a gay salute There crackles in the hearth The holly's fusillade. -- Maurice Craig (born 1919)