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.