While we loved those who never read our poems,Answered our letters, said the simple things weWaited so long for, and were too polite to See we were crying,
Irony fed us: for the days we watched ourChances to please them, nights in rumpled beds layGored by their phantoms, guilty most of suffering, We were rewarded.
While we admired how ignorance became them,Coldness adorned, they came at length to trust us,Made us their mirrors: last their hopeless loves to Us they confided.
They were our teachers: what we are, they made us.Cautious our converse, prudent our behaviour,Guarded our faces: we behind them lurking, Greedy, devourers.
