A glimpse through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a
winter night, and I unremark’d seated in a corner,
Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and seating
himself near, that he may hold me by the hand,
A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and
smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not
a word.