VII.
_______________


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,

5

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

10

   The noise of life begins again,
   And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.