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...VARIATIONS: 11 by CONRAD AIKEN NO MATTER WHAT, AFTER ALL, AND THAT BEAUTIFUL WORD SO by HAYDEN CARRUTH FLOWER GUIDANCE by ROBERT FROST SORROW SINGERS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A FLORIDA GHOST by SIDNEY LANIER TO HELEN KELLER - HUMANITARIAN, SOCIAL DEMOCRAT, GREAT SOUL by EDWIN MARKHAM |