Storm Fear

by Robert Frost

　　

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WHEN the wind works against us in the dark,And pelts with snowThe lowest chamber window on the east,And whispers with a sort of stifled bark,The beast,'Come out! Come out!'--It costs no inward struggle not to go,Ah, no!I count our strength,Two and a child,Those of us not asleep subdued to markHow the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,--How drifts are piled,Dooryard and road ungraded,Till even the comforting barn grows far awayAnd my heart owns a doubtWhether 'tis in us to arise with dayAnd save ourselves unaided.

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