Insult Not The Fallen.

("Oh! n'insultez jamais une femme qui tombe.")

[XIV., Sept. 6, 1835.]


I tell you, hush! no word of sneering scorn -
True, fallen; but God knows how deep her sorrow.
Poor girl! too many like her only born
To love one day - to sin - and die the morrow.
What know you of her struggles or her grief?
Or what wild storms of want and woe and pain
Tore down her soul from honor? As a leaf
From autumn branches, or a drop of rain
That hung in frailest splendor from a bough -
Bright, glistening in the sunlight of God's day -
So had she clung to virtue once. But now -
See Heaven's clear pearl polluted with earth's clay!
The sin is yours - with your accursed gold -
Man's wealth is master - woman's soul the slave!
Some purest water still the mire may hold.
Is there no hope for her - no power to save?
Yea, once again to draw up from the clay
The fallen raindrop, till it shine above,
Or save a fallen soul, needs but one ray
Of Heaven's sunshine, or of human love.

W.C.K. WILDE.

Victor-Marie Hugo

Victor-Marie Hugo was a French poet, novelist, and dramatist of the Romantic movement. He is considered one of the greatest French writers, with works such as "Les Misérables" and "The Hunchback of Notre-Dame." His literary works often explore themes of justice, love, and human rights. In addition to his literary achievements, he was also a politician and human rights activist. Hugo's influence extends beyond literature into politics and society.

Victor-Marie Hugo

The Seaman's Song.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

The Lesson Of The Patriot Dead.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

The Retreat From Moscow.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

The Lover's Wish.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

English

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Mater Dolorosa

Citoyen, lui dit Enjoiras, ma mère, cest la République.
- Les Misérables.


Who is this that sits by the way, by the wild wayside,
In a rent stained raiment, the robe of a cast-off bride,
In the dust, in the rainfall sitting, with soiled feet bare,
With the night for a garment upon her, with torn wet hair?
She is fairer of face than the daughters of men, and her eyes,
Worn through with her tears, are deep as the depth of skies.

This is she for whose sake being fallen, for whose abject sake,
Earth groans in the blackness of darkness, and mens hearts break.
This is she for whose love, having seen her, the men that were
Poured life out as water, and shed their souls upon air.
This is she for whose glory their years were counted as foam;
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King Louis XVII.

("En ce temps-là du ciel les portes.")

[Bk. I. v., December, 1822.]


The golden gates were opened wide that day,
All through the unveiled heaven there seemed to play
Out of the Holiest of Holy, light;
And the elect beheld, crowd immortal,
A young soul, led up by young angels bright,
Stand in the starry portal.

A fair child fleeing from the world's fierce hate,
In his blue eye the shade of sorrow sate,
His golden hair hung all dishevelled down,
On wasted cheeks that told a mournful story,
And angels twined him with the innocent's crown,
The martyr's palm of glory.

The virgin souls that to the Lamb are near,
Called through the clouds with voices heavenly clear,
God hath prepared a glory for thy brow,
Rest in his arms, and...

Victor-Marie Hugo

The Dying Child To Its Mother.

("Oh! vous aurez trop dit.")

[Bk. III. xiv., April, 1843.]


Ah, you said too often to your angel
There are other angels in the sky -
There, where nothing changes, nothing suffers,
Sweet it were to enter in on high.

To that dome on marvellous pilasters,
To that tent roofed o'er with colored bars,
That blue garden full of stars like lilies,
And of lilies beautiful as stars.

And you said it was a place most joyous,
All our poor imaginings above,
With the wingèd cherubim for playmates,
And the good God evermore to love.

Sweet it were to dwell there in all seasons,
Like a taper burning day and night,
Near to the child Jesus and the Virgin,
In that home so beautiful and bright.

But you should have told him, h...

Victor-Marie Hugo

The Pity Of The Angels.

("Un Ange vit un jour.")

[LA PITIÉ SUPREME VIII., 1881.]


When an angel of kindness
Saw, doomed to the dark,
Men framed in his likeness,
He sought for a spark -
Stray gem of God's glory
    That shines so serene -
And, falling like lark,
To brighten our story,
    Pure Pity was seen.

Victor-Marie Hugo

Magdalena.

Who falsely called thee destroyer, still white Angel of Death?
Oh not a destroyer here, but a kind restorer, thou,
For the guilty look is gone, died out with her failing breath,
And the sinless peace of a babe has come to lip and brow.

Drowned in the heaving tide with her life, is her burden of woe,
The dreary weight of sin, the woeful, troublesome years,
The cold pure touch of the water has washed the shame from her brow
Leaving a calm immortal, that looks like the chrism of peace.

I fancy her smile was like this, as she pulled at her mother's gown
Drawing her out with childish fingers to watch the red of the skies
On the old brown doorstep of home, while the peaceful sun went down,
With her mother's hand on her brow, and the glow of the west in her eyes.

"An o...

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To His Orphan Grandchildren.

("O Charles, je te sens près de moi.")

[July, 1871.]


I feel thy presence, Charles. Sweet martyr! down
    In earth, where men decay,
I search, and see from cracks which rend thy tomb,
    Burst out pale morning's ray.

Close linked are bier and cradle: here the dead,
    To charm us, live again:
Kneeling, I mourn, when on my threshold sounds
    Two little children's strain.

George, Jeanne, sing on! George, Jeanne, unconscious play!
    Your father's form recall,
Now darkened by his sombre shade, now gilt
    By beams that wandering fall.

Oh, knowledge! what thy use? did we not know
    Death holds no more the dead;
But Heaven, where, hand in hand, angel and star
    Smile at the grave we dread?

A Heave...

Victor-Marie Hugo