The House of Fear

Vast are its halls, as vast the halls and lone
Where Death sits, listening to the wind and rain;
And dark the house, where I shall meet again
That 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 hollow 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 slantwise down the cheek’s dead white;--
And I have dreamed not even God can save
Me and my soul from that arisen Sin.