by Robert Frost

Where had I heard this wind before Change like this to a deeper roar? What would it take my standing there for, Holding open a restive door, Looking down hill to a frothy shore? Summer was past and the day was past. Sombre clouds in the west were massed. Out on the porch's sagging floor, Leaves got up in a coil and hissed, Blindly striking at my knee and missed. Something sinister in the tone Told me my secret my be known: Word I was in the house alone Somehow must have gotten abroad, Word I was in my life alone, Word I had no one left but God.