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.

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