The secret

Tell me, what is the secret thy harp, sole companion,

In the twilight confides to thee?

Tell me if, from thy heart, its depths revealing,

Comes a sigh of love for me?

If thy inmost thought, thy awakened soul,

Doth fear or hope, courage keeping,

If the strings, neath thy hand, are moistened with tears,

And if thou singest while weeping?

Tell me if, at a chord, or a note soft and tender,

Thy gentle heart is grieving;

If the voice of an absent one doth murmur fondly,

If thou respondest, believing?

But no, naught to me say, but sigh, and sing while weeping,

keep thy secret from me.

If thou to me dost tell... loving thee must I die

Of despair or of rapture, sweet, for thee.