dear though the night is gone

• w h auden in bir şiiri, buyrun:
  
  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?