Friday, April 1, 2011

Another poem, for yet another cold night

The poem is Auden's The More Loving One, and it is a thing to aspire to.

Though the idea of loving the starless night is dubious, at best. Seem to remember reading somewhere that we are buffered by stars. It is an idea I will hold to, to the last.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total darkness sublime,
Though this might take me a little time

—W.H. Auden

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