At Last The Secret Is Out

At last the secret is out

As it always must come in the end

The delicious story is ripe to tell

To tell to the intimate friend

Over the tea-cups and into the square

The tongues has its desire

Still waters run deep, my dear

There's never smoke without fire



Behind the corpse in the reservoir

Behind the ghost on the links

Behind the lady who dances

And the man who madly drinks

Under the look of fatigue

The attack of migraine and the sigh

There is always another story

There is more than meets the eye



For the clear voice suddenly singing

High up in the convent wall

The scent of the elder bushes

The sporting prints in the hall

The croquet matches in summer

The handshake, the cough, the kiss

There is always a wicked secret

A private reason for this.