“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.