ALONE – W.H. AUDEN

I

Each lover has a theory of his own

About the difference between the ache

Of being with his love, and being alone:

II

Why what, when dreaming, is dear flesh and bone

That really stirs the senses, when awake,

Appears a simulacrum of his own.

III

Narcissus disbelieves in the unknown;

He cannot join his image in the lake

So long he assumes he is alone.

IV

The child, the waterfall, the fire, the stone ,

Are always up to mischief, though, and take

The universe for granted as their own.

V

The elderly, like Proust, are always prone

To think of love as a subjective fake;

The more they love, the more they feel alone.

VI

Whatever view we hold, it must be shown

Why every lover has a wish to make

Some other kind of otherwise his own:

Perhaps, in fact, we never are alone.