Chapter 84: eighty four
The More Loving One
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 the 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 I do not give a damn,
I cannot, now that I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all the stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
by W. H. Auden
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