The host, he says that all is well
And the fire-wood glow is bright;
The food has a warm and tempting smell,—
But on the window licks the night.

Pile on the logs... Give me your hands,
Friends! No,— it is not fright...
But hold me... somewhere I heard demands...
And on the window licks the night.

Added: May 7 2003 | Viewed: 4593 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Hart Crane
Poem: Fear
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