At last the secret is out, <br />as it always must come in the end, <br />the delicius story is ripe to tell <br />to tell to the intimate friend; <br />over the tea-cups and into the square <br />the tongues has its desire; <br />still waters run deep, my dear, <br />there's never smoke without fire. <br /> <br />Behind the corpse in the reservoir, <br />behind the ghost on the links, <br />behind the lady who dances <br />and the man who madly drinks, <br />under the look of fatigue <br />the attack of migraine and the sigh <br />there is always another story, <br />there is more than meets the eye. <br /> <br />For the clear voice suddently singing, <br />high up in the convent wall, <br />the scent of the elder bushes, <br />the sporting prints in the hall, <br />the croquet matches in summer, <br />the handshake, the cough, the kiss, <br />there is always a wicked secret, <br />a private reason for this.<br /><br />WH Auden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-last-the-secret-is-out-2/
