Gave him, as a gift, that honoured head,
Hiding his undoubted joy, outwardly
He wept with his eyes, in the way it is written;
And Hannibal, when in his afflicted empire
He saw fortune being so cruel,
He laughed amongst his tearful people
To give vent to his bitterness.
And thus it is that the soul
Covers every passion with its opposing cloak
With a changing face, now clear, now cloudy:
So if I should ever laugh or sing,
It is because this is the only way I have
To hide my agonised weeping.