In Memoriam W.

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 clapsed no more--

Behold me, for I cannot sleep,

And like a guilty thing I creep

At earliest morning to the door.

You are not here; but far away

The noise of life begins again,

And ghastly through the drizzling rain

On the bald street breaks the blank day.