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.
More verses by Alfred Lord Tennyson
- Idylls Of The King: The Last Tournament (Excerpt)
- The Princess (Part 4)
- The Princess: A Medley: Come Down, O Maid
- The Princess (Part 6)
- The Lord Of Burleigh