One of Tennyson's poems from his "In Memoriam":
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 clasped 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.
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