My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its mystery, <br />A love eternal in a moment's space conceived; <br />Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its history, <br />And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed. <br />Alas! I shall have passed close by her unperceived, <br />For ever at her side and yet for ever lonely, <br />I shall unto the end have made life's journey, only <br />Daring to ask for nought, and having nought received. <br /> <br />For her, though God hath made her gentle and endearing, <br />She will go on her way distraught and without hearing <br />These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend, <br />Piously faithful still unto her austere duty, <br />Will say, when she shall read these lines full of her beauty, <br />Who can this woman be? and will not comprehend.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-secret-from-the-french-of-felix-arvers/
