“ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT.”

On my bed of a winter night,

Deep in a sleep and deep in a dream,

What care I for the wild wind's scream,

What to me is its crooked flight?

On the sea of a summer day,

Wrapped in the folds of a snowy sail,

What care I for the fitful gale,

Now in earnest, now in play?

What care I for the fitful wind,

That groans in a gorge, or sighs in a tree?

Groaning and sighing are nothing to me,

For I am a man of steadfast mind.