While the bud in my bosom is swelling.
Soon as the frost will get out of my bed,
From this cold dungeon to free me,
I will peer up with my little bright head—
All will be joyful to see me.
Then from my heart will young petals diverge
As rays of the sun from their focus;
I from the darkness of earth will emerge,
A happy and beautiful Crocus!
Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower