Canto VII

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.