Spirit Fear.

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I look with half unfriendly eyes
Into the casual eyes I meet,
As if my spirit feared surprise,
Dim-memoried with some old defeat.
In a far life it may be, when
It breathed in a monastic cell,
And found a fallacy in men
More sad than any tongue can tell
Or flashing in a warrior's fame
A sword for friendship fiercely drew
But turned to dust an honored name
And made life's mead a bitter brew.
And still like an ancestral stain
The memory on the spirit lies,
And still it fears to meet again
The light of those accusing eyes

© Robert Crawford