Dear, though the night is gone, <br />Its dream still haunts today, <br />That brought us to a room <br />Cavernous, lofty as <br />A railway terminus, <br />And crowded in that gloom <br />Were beds, and we in one <br />In a far corner lay. <br /> <br />Our whisper woke no clocks, <br />We kissed and I was glad <br />At everything you did, <br />Indifferent to those <br />Who sat with hostile eyes <br />In pairs on every bed, <br />Arms round each other's neck, <br />Inert and vaguely sad. <br /> <br />O but what worm of guilt <br />Or what malignant doubt <br />Am I the victim of, <br />That you then, unabashed, <br />Did what I never wished, <br />Confessed another love; <br />And I, submissive, felt <br />Unwanted and went out?<br /><br />Wystan Hugh Auden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dear-though-the-night-is-gone/
