The Dream

Dear, though the night is gone, Its dream still haunts to-day, 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 necks, Inert and vaguely sad. What hidden 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.