Treasure Island

Robert Frost

(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963 / San Francisco)

Storm Fear


When the wind works against us in the dark,
And pelts with snow
The 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 mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,-
How drifts are piled,
Dooryard and road ungraded,
Till even the comforting barn grows far away
And my heart owns a doubt
Whether 'tis in us to arise with day
And save ourselves unaided.

Submitted: Tuesday, March 30, 2010

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  • Stephen W (1/18/2013 4:07:00 PM)

    I think this poem is really about the weather.
    He lived on a farm in the US North East, having grown up in San Francisco, where such storms would have been unknown. The fear of being snowed in is very real. (Report) Reply

  • Lauren Love (12/26/2011 1:59:00 AM)

    The poem, to me, shows what type of fear srikes a person when a storm comes, and not being a sotrm as in weather, but inside the soul storm. Good job Robert :) (Report) Reply

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