Unrhymed, unrhythmical, the chatter goes: <br />Yet no one hears his own remarks as prose. <br /> <br />Beneath each topic tunelessly discussed <br />The ground-bass is reciprocal mistrust. <br /> <br />The names in fashion shuttling to and fro <br />Yield, when deciphered, messages of woe. <br /> <br />You cannot read me like an open book. <br />I'm more myself than you will ever look. <br /> <br />Will no one listen to my little song? <br /> <br />Perhaps I shan't be with you very long. <br /> <br />A howl for recognition, shrill with fear, <br />Shakes the jam-packed apartment, but each ear <br />Is listening to its hearing, so none hear.<br /><br />Wystan Hugh Auden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-the-party/
