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.

Analysis, meaning and summary of Hart Crane's poem Fear

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