The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun's still shining there, <br />But we bow our heads and we brood and fret, because of the masks we wear; <br />Or we nod and smile the social while, and we say we're doing well, <br />But we break our hearts, oh, we break our hearts! for the things we must not tell. <br /> <br />There's the old love wronged ere the new was won, there's the light of long ago; <br />There's the cruel lie that we suffer for, and the public must not know. <br />So we go through life with a ghastly mask, and we're doing fairly well, <br />While they break our hearts, oh, they kill our hearts! do the things we must not tell. <br /> <br />We see but pride in a selfish breast, while a heart is breaking there; <br />Oh, the world would be such a kindly world if all men's hearts lay bare! <br />We live and share the living lie, we are doing very well, <br />While they eat our hearts as the years go by, do the things we dare not tell. <br /> <br />We bow us down to a dusty shrine, or a temple in the East, <br />Or we stand and drink to the world-old creed, with the coffins at the feast; <br />We fight it down, and we live it down, or we bear it bravely well, <br />But the best men die of a broken heart for the things they cannot tell.<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-things-we-dare-not-tell/
