Answer:
If you have me, you want to tell me. If you tell me, you don't have me.
Said to have fifty shades
Deep, deep, do they go. Spreading out as they go. Never needing any air. They are sometimes as fine as hair
A beautiful succession of sounds.
This patch of land stands alone
It flows out of the soil, It burns you if it boils, And holds us in its coils, More valuable than gold, As black as it is old.