Constantine P. Cavafy: On the Stairs

As I was going down those ill-famed stairs
you were coming in the door, and for a second
I saw your unfamiliar face and you saw mine.
Then I hid so you wouldn’t see me again, and you
hurried past me, hiding your face,
and slipped inside the ill-famed house
where you couldn’t have found sensual pleasure any more
            than I did.

And yet the love you were looking for, I had to give you;
the love I was looking for—so your tired,
knowing eyes implied—you had to give me.
Our bodies sensed and sought each other;
our blood and skin understood.

But, flustered, we both hid ourselves.

(Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard)