The host, he says that all is well
And the fire-wood glow is bright;
The food has a warm and tempting smell,—
But on the window licks the night.

Pile on the logs... Give me your hands,
Friends! No,— it is not fright...
But hold me... somewhere I heard demands...
And on the window licks the night.

This is the poem "Fear", by Hart Crane... REALNEO poet of the day. I became aware of early 20th Century NEO poet Hart Crane from visiting a major local artwork, by Gene Kangas, fabricated in Crane's memory and installed along the banks of the Cuyahoga, in a very fitting, desolate site... learn more about this work here.. As Kangas' work raised my curiosity, I explored the life of Crane and his work and was thoroughly awed. His life was short and tragic, in many ways, but his poetry is fantastic. Visit the following biography to learn more about Crane, and read a more personal perspective at this site. I've posted another of his works below, and more can be found here, and by searching for his name on-line.

Legend

Hart Crane

As silent as a mirror is believed
Realities plunge in silence by . . .

I am not ready for repentance;
Nor to match regrets. For the moth
Bends no more than the still
Imploring flame. And tremorous
In the white falling flakes
Kisses are,--
The only worth all granting.

It is to be learned--
This cleaving and this burning,
But only by the one who
Spends out himself again.

Twice and twice
(Again the smoking souvenir,
Bleeding eidolon!) and yet again.
Until the bright logic is won
Unwhispering as a mirror
Is believed.

Then, drop by caustic drop, a perfect cry
Shall string some constant harmony,--
Relentless caper for all those who step
The legend of their youth into the noon.