The House of Fear.
Reading edition
Vast are its halls, as vast the halls and lone Where Death stalks listening to the wind and rain; And dark that house, where I shall meet again My 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 horrible 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 down slantwise the ghastly white;— And I have dreamed not even God can save Me and my soul from that risen Sin.