THE HOUSE OF FEAR.

Vast are its halls, as vast the halls and lone

Where DEATH stalks listening to the wind and rain;

And dark that house, where I shall meet again

My long-dead Sin in some dread way unknown;

For I have dreamed of stairs of haunted stone,

And spectre footsteps I have fled in vain;

And windows glaring with a blood-red stain,

And horrible eyes, that burn me to the bone,

Within a face that looks as that black night

It looked when deep I dug for it a grave,—

The dagger wound above the brow, the thin

Blood trickling down slantwise the ghastly white;—

And I have dreamed not even GOD can save

Me and my soul from that risen Sin.