Canto VII
Dark house, by which once more I standHere in the long unlovely street,Doors, where my heart was used to beatSo 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 creepAt earliest morning to the door.
He is not here; but far awayThe noise of life begins again,And ghastly thro’ the drizzling rainOn the bald street breaks the blank day.