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.