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.

 Auden concludes his star/love extended metaphor with one final (and a little desperate-seeming) rationalization. His unrequited love isn’t important to him. If this indifferent object of his adoration disappeared, he would learn to embrace his absence. 
 Auden was 53 when he wrote this poem, though it carries the angst and frustration of a much younger man.
The More Loving One