The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed； The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed. And days may pass in gay confusion, And nights in rosy2 riot fly, While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion, The memory of the Past may die.
But there are hours of lonely musing3, Such as in evening silence come, When, soft as birds their pinions4 closing, The heart's best feelings gather home. Then in our souls there seems to languish5 A tender grief that is not woe7； And thoughts that once wrung8 groans9 of anguish6 Now cause but some mild tears to flow.
And feelings, once as strong as passions, Float softly backa faded dream； Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations, The tale of others' sufferings seem. Oh！ when the heart is freshly bleeding, How longs it for that time to be, When, through the mist of years receding10, Its woes11 but live in reverie！
And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer12, On evening shade and loneliness； And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer, Feel no untold13 and strange distress only a deeper impulse given By lonely hour and darkened room, To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven Seeking a life and world to come.
