Victim of guilt and innocence

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.

Secrets concealed none forgotten

Simultaneously, as soundlessly,
Spontaneously, suddenly 
The vaunts of the dawn fly open
Ill-natured and second-rate,
Disenfranchised, widowed and orphaned
By an historical mistake:

To its world beyond, the gates of the mind,

Swing to, swing shut, instantaneously
Quell the nocturnal rummage
Of its rebellious frond, ill-favoured,
From absence to be on display,
Between my body and the day.

I draw breath; that is of course to wish,

No matter what, to be wise.
To be different, to die and the cost,
No matter how, is Paradise
Will dreams connect our minds
 My assassin to be, and my name