Toys And Tragedy.

("Enfants, on vous dira plus tard.")

[January, 1871.]


In later years, they'll tell you grandpapa
Adored his little darlings; for them did
His utmost just to pleasure them and mar
No moments with a frown or growl amid
Their rosy rompings; that he loved them so
(Though men have called him bitter, cold, and stern,)
That in the famous winter when the snow
Covered poor Paris, he went, old and worn,
To buy them dolls, despite the falling shells,
At which laughed Punch, and they, and shook his bells.

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 Rose And The Grave.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

The Grandmother

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

Paternal Love.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

The Girl Of Otaheite.

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 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

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

The Eaglet Mourned.

("Encore si ce banni n'eût rien aimé sur terre.")

[V, iv., August, 1832.]


Too hard Napoleon's fate! if, lone,
No being he had loved, no single one,
Less dark that doom had been.
But with the heart of might doth ever dwell
The heart of love! and in his island cell
Two things there were - I ween.

Two things - a portrait and a map there were -
Here hung the pictured world, an infant there:
That framed his genius, this enshrined his love.
And as at eve he glanced round th' alcove,
Where jailers watched his very thoughts to spy,
What mused he then - what dream of years gone by
Stirred 'neath that discrowned brow, and fired that glistening eye?

'Twas not the steps of that heroic tale
That from Arcola marched to Montmirail<...

Victor-Marie Hugo

L'Année Terrible.

TO LITTLE JEANNE.

("Vous eûtes donc hier un an.")

[September, 1870.]


You've lived a year, then, yesterday, sweet child,
Prattling thus happily! So fledglings wild,
New-hatched in warmer nest 'neath sheltering bough,
Chirp merrily to feel their feathers grow.
Your mouth's a rose, Jeanne! In these volumes grand
Whose pictures please you - while I trembling stand
To see their big leaves tattered by your hand -
Are noble lines; but nothing half your worth,
When all your tiny frame rustles with mirth
To welcome me. No work of author wise
Can match the thought half springing to your eyes,
And your dim reveries, unfettered, strange,
Regarding man with all the boundless range
Of angel innocence. Methinks, 'tis clear
That God's not f...

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

Still Be A Child.

("O vous que votre âge défende")

[IX., February, 1840.]


In youthful spirits wild,
Smile, for all beams on thee;
Sport, sing, be still the child,
The flower, the honey-bee.

Bring not the future near,
For Joy too soon declines -
What is man's mission here?
Toil, where no sunlight shines!

Our lot is hard, we know;
From eyes so gayly beaming,
Whence rays of beauty flow,
Salt tears most oft are streaming.

Free from emotions past,
All joy and hope possessing,
With mind in pureness cast,
Sweet ignorance confessing.

Plant, safe from winds and showers,
Heart with soft visions glowing,
In childhood's happy hours
A mother's rapture showing.

Loved by each anxious friend,
No carking c...

Victor-Marie Hugo