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Friedrich Schiller 1759 (Marbach am Neckar) – 1805 (Weimar)
She sought to breathe one word, but vainly;
Too many listeners were nigh;
And yet my timid glance read plainly
The language of her speaking eye.
Thy silent glades my footstep presses,
Thou fair and leaf-embosomed grove!
Conceal within thy green recesses
From mortal eye our sacred love!
Afar with strange discordant noises,
The busy day is echoing;
And 'mid the hollow hum of voices,
I hear the heavy hammer ring.
'Tis thus that man, with toil ne'er ending
Extorts from heaven his daily bread;
Yet oft unseen the Gods are sending
The gifts of fortune on his head!
Oh, let mankind discover never
How true love fills with bliss our hearts
They would but crush our joy forever,
For joy to them no glow imparts.
Thou ne'er wilt from the world obtain it--
'Tis never captured save as prey;
Thou needs must strain each nerve to gain it,
E'er envy dark asserts her sway.
The hours of night and stillness loving,
It comes upon us silently--
Away with hasty footstep moving
Soon as it sees a treacherous eye.
Thou gentle stream, soft circlets weaving,
A watery barrier cast around,
And, with thy waves in anger heaving,
Guard from each foe this holy ground!
Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 1:02 min read
- 87 Views
|Scheme||ABABCXCX XDCDDEDE FGFGHIHI DADBDJDJ|
|Closest metre||Iambic tetrameter|
|Stanza Lengths||8, 8, 8, 8|
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Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
"The Secret" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 28 May 2023. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/14424/the-secret>.
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