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.

Added: Mar 11 2005 | Viewed: 815 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Alfred Lord Tennyson
Poem: In Memoriam A. H. H.: 7. Dark house, by which once more I s

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