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.

by Harold Hart Crane

Other poems of CRANE (37)

Comments (1)

.....amazing...and true. I've read some people have a phobia of the night..Although I'm not sure if this is common, I hope not ★