I loved; yet not even one
Of those I loved ever knew
How dearly, how well I loved...
Who knows how to read the heart?
Now, even those who inspired
The greatest of my raptures,
The deepest of my sorrows,
Alas... don't recognize me.
You'd think my love that river
Which took its boundless currents
From the snows of the tall peaks;
Yet the peaks never noticed.
Or you'd think my love that door
That no one knocked and entered;
Covered with fargrant flowers,
A secret grove was my love.
And if, perchance, some did see
In the bright and boundless sky
My love ascending as smoke,
Ah... its flames they did not see...
I loved; but not even one
Of those I loved ever knew
How dearly, how well I loved...
Who knows how to read the heart?
