Classic Poem

Blind was the baffling mist across the unsheltered moor;
But his homecoming feet kept the familiar track,
Until at length he stood, numb-fingered, at his own door,
And fumbled with the unseen latch, glad to be back.

He fumbled at the door, till suddenly it swung wide
Upon a deeper night; for no quick footstep came
To greet him: only a hollow darkness gaped inside,
Lit by no hearthfire glow of peat, nor candle-flame.

Shivering he stood bewildered on his threshold-stone,
Peering with strained eyes into that unfamiliar gloom;
While, stealing by him as he stood, for evermore alone,
The cold fog drifted into the desolated room.