house, by which once more I stand
in the long unlovely street,
where my heart was used to beat
quickly, waiting for a hand,
hand that can be clasp'd no moreó
me, for I cannot sleep,
like a guilty thing I creep
earliest morning to the door.
not here; but far away
noise of life begins again,
ghastly thro' the drizzling rain
the bald street breaks the blank day.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson