On a snowy, wind-battered night, a family huddles inside while the storm works against the house. The wind pelts snow at the window and, in a voice like a stifled bark, calls “Come out! Come out!” — but the speaker feels no temptation to go. The real fear is quieter and colder: two adults and a child lie awake, watching the fire die and the drifts pile up until the road and even the barn seem far away. The storm turns the familiar world into something isolating and threatening. By the end, the speaker doubts whether they will have the strength to “arise with day / And save ourselves unaided.” The mood is one of dread and vulnerability — not panic, but the slow, creeping fear of being cut off and helpless against a force far larger than themselves.
Storm Fear — Summary
When the wind works against us in the dark, And pelts with snow The lower 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.