| 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– | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| And ghastly thro’ the drizzling rain | |
| On the bald street breaks the blank day. |