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 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 do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day.

Were all 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.

Note: Reading Auden's "Selected Poems" - I know I am little late in getting around to his centennial - on the subway earlier this morning, I read the above poem, whose core - "let the more loving one be me" - had stayed with me since I had first read it on a poetry mailing list a while ago. Since it reminds me of how Auden wrote some remarkable love poems, it goes here.