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.