5. THE SECRET.
Edgar Alfred Bowring translation
We sigh not, and the eye’s not moisten’d, We laugh at times, we often smile; In not a look, in not a gesture The secret comes to light the while. Deep in our bleeding spirit hidden, It lies in silent misery; If in our wild heart it finds language, The mouth’s still closed convulsively. Ask of the suckling in the cradle, Ask of the dead man in the grave; They may perchance disclose the secret To which I never utt’rance gave.