Deep within me sleep songs unsung,
Which neither suffering nor joy have yet brought forth,
Wich sleep on awaiting a happier day
To burst aut and be sung without fear or grief.

Deep within me my songs or dormant..
I am a volcano, lying quiescent,
But when the day comes, they will all burst aut,
In a thousand immortal colours spout.
But will the day come for my songs to awaken?
Or will the ages continue their derision?
No! no! Because freedom has begun to bloom
And I feel the warmth of the (alegoric) Sun.

Oh, sleeping songs, my personal relics,
Still to any other heart unknown.
Only I, like a child, with you am content,
I –your candle, and perhaps your tomb.