Fear

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I HEARD a sound of crying in the lane,
  A passionless, low crying,
And I said, "It is the tears of the brown rain
  On the leaves within the lane!"

I heard a sudden sighing at the door,
  A soft, persuasive sighing,
And I said, "The summer breeze has sighed before,
  Gustily, outside the door!"

Yet from the place I fled, nor came again,
  With my heart beating, beating!
For I knew 'twas not the breeze nor the brown rain
  At the door and in the lane!

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay