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