Original Poems

The Fear I Fought

A nameless kind of thing it is:
This feeling of
You-know-not-what —
A shapeless, shifting kind of dread,
A pall that is
And yet is not,

That covers up both earth and sky,
That leaves ground dry
And stale air still —
The fear I fought, insidious,
For stealing hope,
And warping

Will

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