I have a major project on Tennyson due on Monday and my head is just filed to capacity with his biography and poetry and rhyme schemes and imagery and death and Arthur Henry Hallam and just everything! Enjoy some Tennyson.

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.