Poems by Victor Hugo Part 22

MORNING.

_("L'aurore s'allume.")_

[XX. a, December, 1834.]

Morning glances. .h.i.ther, Now the shade is past; Dream and fog fly thither Where Night goes at last; Open eyes and roses As the darkness closes; And the sound that grows is Nature walking fast.

Murmuring all and singing, Hark! the news is stirred, Roof and creepers clinging, Smoke and nest of bird; Winds to oak-trees bear it, Streams and fountains hear it, Every breath and spirit As a voice is heard.

All takes up its story, Child resumes his play, Hearth its ruddy glory, Lute its lifted lay.

Wild or out of senses, Through the world immense is Sound as each commences Schemes of yesterday.

W.M. HARDINGE.

SONG OF LOVE.

_("S'il est un charmant gazon.")_

[XXII, Feb. 18, 1834.]

If there be a velvet sward By dewdrops pearly drest, Where through all seasons fairies guard Flowers by bees carest, Where one may gather, day and night, Roses, honeysuckle, lily white, I fain would make of it a site For thy foot to rest.

If there be a loving heart Where Honor rules the breast, Loyal and true in every part, That changes ne'er molest, Eager to run its n.o.ble race, Intent to do some work of grace, I fain would make of it a place For thy brow to rest.

And if there be of love a dream Rose-scented as the west, Which shows, each time it comes, a gleam,-- A something sweet and blest,-- A dream of which heaven is the pole, A dream that mingles soul and soul, I fain of it would make the goal Where thy mind should rest.

TORU DUTT.

SWEET CHARMER.[1]

_("L'aube nait et ta porte est close.")_

[XXIII., February, 18--.]

Though heaven's gate of light uncloses, Thou stirr'st not--thou'rt laid to rest, Waking are thy sister roses, One only dreamest on thy breast.

Hear me, sweet dreamer!

Tell me all thy fears, Trembling in song, But to break in tears.

Lo! to greet thee, spirits pressing, Soft music brings the gentle dove, And fair light falleth like a blessing, While my poor heart can bring thee only love.

Worship thee, angels love thee, sweet woman?

Yes; for that love perfects my soul.

None the less of heaven that my heart is human, Blent in one exquisite, harmonious whole.

H.B. FARNIE.

[Footnote 1: Set to music by Sir Arthur Sullivan.]

MORE STRONG THAN TIME.

_("Puisque j'ai mis ma levre a ta coupe.")_

[XXV., Jan. 1, 1835.]

Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet, Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid, Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it, And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;

Since it was given to me to hear one happy while, The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries, Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile, Your lips upon my lips, and your gaze upon my eyes;

Since I have known upon my forehead glance and gleam, A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always, Since I have felt the fall upon my lifetime's stream, Of one rose-petal plucked from the roses of your days;

I now am bold to say to the swift-changing hours, Pa.s.s--pa.s.s upon your way, for I grow never old.

Flee to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers, One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet.

My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill, My soul more love than you can make my love forget.

A. LANG.

ROSES AND b.u.t.tERFLIES.

_("Roses et Papillons.")_

[XXVII., Dec. 7, 1834.]

The grave receives us all: Ye b.u.t.terflies and roses gay and sweet Why do ye linger, say?

Will ye not dwell together as is meet?