Three houses all alike, all piteous
With winking windows and a midday gloom,
All choked with London fog, and hideous
With monster sideboard in the dining-room;
Alike, yet all unlike as blight and bloom.
For the first holds fair lady Gwendoline,
Whom I have never seen;
The second bonnie Kate,
Whom I nor love nor hate;
But the third house holds in its heart for me
My little Dorothy.
My lady, dost thou bind thy bright brown hair,
Or dost thou steal adown the noiseless stair?
Love, thou art in the house, and gazing there
I turn to thee.