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.
***
More poems by Baron Alfred, Lord Tennyson
![Alfred 1st Baron Tennyson](https://www.poetry.monster/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/800px-Alfred_Tennyson_1st_Baron_Tennyson_by_George_Frederic_Watts-150x150.jpg)