Not even in secret, not to my own heart
But from my lips, these words start.
And from my pen these words flow as I write
Tears fall down my eyes with blurry sight.
All my words, all my love, went in vain
That I thought never to speak again.
What power delights to torture me? I know
That to myself I do not owe.
She clung like music in my brain
To which the mute walls spoke again.
I dwelt beside the hell's gate
As to suffer with pain was my fate
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem