HOW strange a fate in love is mine!
How dearly prized the pains I feel!
Pangs, that to rend my soul combine,
With avarice I conceal:
For did the world the tale divine,
My lot would then be deeper woe,
And mine is grief, that none must know.
To mortal ears I may not dare
Unfold the cause, the pain I prove;
'Twould plunge in ruin and despair
Or me, or her I love.
My soul delights alone to bear
Her silent, unsuspected woe,
And none shall pity, none shall know.
Thus buried in my bosom’s urn,
Thus in my inmost heart concealed,
Let me alone the secret mourn,
In pangs unsoothed and unrevealed.
For whether happiness or woe,
Or life or death its power bestow,
It is what none on earth must know.