Under the snow in the dark and the cold,
A pale little sprout was humming;
Sweetly it sang, -neath the frozen mold,
Of the beautiful days that were coming.

-How foolish your songs, � said a lump of clay,
-What is there, I ask, to prove them?
Just look at the walls between you and the day,
Now, have you the strength to move them? �

But under the ice and under the snow
The pale little sprout kept singing,
-I cannot tell how, but I know, I know,
I know what the days are bringing.�

-Birds, and blossoms, and buzzing bees,
Blue, blue skies above me,
Bloom on the meadows and buds on the trees,
And the great glad sun to love me.�

A pebble spoke next: -You are quite absurd.�
It said, -with your song-s insistence;
For I never saw a tree or a bird,
So of course there are none in existence.�

-But I know, I know, � the tendril cried,
In beautiful sweet unreason;
Till lo! from its prison, glorified,
It burst in the glad spring season.