Poor Little Children.

("La femelle! elle est morte.")

[Bk. I. xiii., Jersey, February, 1853.]


Mother birdie stiff and cold,
Puss has hushed the other's singing;
Winds go whistling o'er the wold, -
Empty nest in sport a-flinging.
    Poor little birdies!

Faithless shepherd strayed afar,
Playful dog the gadflies catching;
Wolves bound boldly o'er the bar,
Not a friend the fold is watching -
    Poor little lambkins!

Father into prison fell,
Mother begging through the parish;
Baby's cot they, too, will sell, -
Who will now feed, clothe and cherish?
    Poor little children!

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

A Storm Simile.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

The Despatch Of The Doom.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

The Feast Of Freedom.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

To Albert Dürer.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Children Of The Poor.

("Prenez garde à ce petit être.")

[LAUS PUER: POEM V.]


Take heed of this small child of earth;
He is great: in him is God most high.
Children before their fleshly birth
Are lights in the blue sky.

In our brief bitter world of wrong
They come; God gives us them awhile.
His speech is in their stammering tongue,
And His forgiveness in their smile.

Their sweet light rests upon our eyes:
Alas! their right to joy is plain.
If they are hungry, Paradise
Weeps, and if cold, Heaven thrills with pain.

The want that saps their sinless flower
Speaks judgment on Sin's ministers.
Man holds an angel in his power.
Ah! deep in Heaven what thunder stirs.

When God seeks out these tender things,
Whom in the shadow whe...

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

Mothers.

("Regardez: les enfants.")

[XX., June, 1884.]


See all the children gathered there,
Their mother near; so young, so fair,
An eider sister she might be,
And yet she hears, amid their games,
The shaking of their unknown names
In the dark urn of destiny.

She wakes their smiles, she soothes their cares,
On that pure heart so like to theirs,
Her spirit with such life is rife
That in its golden rays we see,
Touched into graceful poesy,
The dull cold commonplace of life.

Still following, watching, whether burn
The Christmas log in winter stern,
While merry plays go round;
Or streamlets laugh to breeze of May
That shakes the leaf to break away -
A shadow falling to the ground.

If some poor man with hungry e...

Victor-Marie Hugo

Childhood.

("L'enfant chantait.")

[Bk. I. xxiii., Paris, January, 1835.]


The small child sang; the mother, outstretched on the low bed,
With anguish moaned, - fair Form pain should possess not long;
For, ever nigher, Death hovered around her head:
I hearkened there this moan, and heard even there that song.

The child was but five years, and, close to the lattice, aye
Made a sweet noise with games and with his laughter bright;
And the wan mother, aside this being the livelong day
Carolling joyously, coughed hoarsely all the night.

The mother went to sleep 'mong them that sleep alway;
And the blithe little lad began anew to sing...
Sorrow is like a fruit: God doth not therewith weigh
Earthward the branch strong yet but for the blossoming.

N...

Victor-Marie Hugo

The Son In Old Age.

("Ma Regina, cette noble figure.")

[LES BURGRAVES, Part II.]


Thy noble face, Regina, calls to mind
My poor lost little one, my latest born.
He was a gift from God - a sign of pardon -
That child vouchsafed me in my eightieth year!
I to his little cradle went, and went,
And even while 'twas sleeping, talked to it.
For when one's very old, one is a child!
Then took it up and placed it on my knees,
And with both hands stroked down its soft, light hair -
Thou wert not born then - and he would stammer
Those pretty little sounds that make one smile!
And though not twelve months old, he had a mind.
He recognized me - nay, knew me right well,
And in my face would laugh - and that child-laugh,
Oh, poor old man! 'twas sunlight to my heart.
...

Victor-Marie Hugo

How Good Are The Poor.

("Il est nuit. La cabane est pauvre.")

[Bk. LII. iii.]

'Tis night - within the close stout cabin door,
The room is wrapped in shade save where there fall
Some twilight rays that creep along the floor,
And show the fisher's nets upon the wall.

In the dim corner, from the oaken chest,
A few white dishes glimmer; through the shade
Stands a tall bed with dusky curtains dressed,
And a rough mattress at its side is laid.

Five children on the long low mattress lie -
A nest of little souls, it heaves with dreams;
In the high chimney the last embers die,
And redden the dark room with crimson gleams.

The mother kneels and thinks, and pale with fear,
She prays alone, hearing the billows shout:
While to wild winds, to rocks, to midnigh...

Victor-Marie Hugo