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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PROTESTATION by THOMAS CAREW A NEGRO LOVE SONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 104 by ALFRED TENNYSON EVENING TRAINS by MARY TRUE AYER AN OLD SONG by SOLOMON BLOOMGARDEN A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 3 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SONG BY JULIUS BRENZAIDA by EMILY JANE BRONTE |