Down in my solitude, under the snow,
Where nothing cheering can reach me—
Here, without light to see how I should grow,
I trust to nature to teach me.
I'll not despair, nor be idle, nor frown;
Though locked in so gloomy a dwelling!
My leaves shall shoot up, while my root's running down,
And the bud in my bosom is swelling.
Soon as the frost will get off from my bed,
From this cold dungeon to free me,