Dark house, by which once more I stand 
 Here in the long unlovely street,
 Doors, where my heart was used to beat
 So quickly, waiting for a hand,
 A hand that can be clasp'd no more--
 Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
 And like a guilty thing I creep
 At earliest morning to the door.
 He is not here; but far away
 The noise of life begins again,
 And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain
 On the bald street breaks the blank day.