Storm Fear

By: Robert Frost

When the wind works against us in the dark,And pelts with snowThe lower 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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