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Fear

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.
Autres oeuvres par Hart Crane...



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