Cruel fear

A Fear came knocking at my lonely heart;
So gaunt and grey he looked, I shook with dread;
His coming stilled my little laughing hopes,
All pale they stood and quiet as the dead.

With trembling hands I sought to bar the door;
My fingers failed, and in the grim fear pressed;
My little dreams and hoped crept past and fled,
Winged by swift fear of my unbidden guest.

And there he stays, a shadow by my hearth,
And watches me with cold, cruel eyes always;
Though once with groping hands I sought the door
Thinking I heard my little dreams at play;

But as I went he mocked my eagerness
And hope went shudd'ring from my lonely door;
The firelight died; the room grew stilly cold—
And there the grey fear sits for evermore.

—A. O.