To Some Birds Flown Away
Read 'To Some Birds Flown Away' by 'Victor Hugo' and provide your summary and literary analysis in the comments section below.
To Some Birds Flown Away by Victor Hugo
("Enfants! Oh! revenez!")
{XXII, April, 1837}
Children, come back—come back, I say—
You whom my folly chased away
A moment since, from this my room,
With bristling wrath and words of doom!
What had you done, you bandits small,
With lips as red as roses all?
What crime?—what wild and hapless deed?
What porcelain vase by you was split
To thousand pieces? Did you need
For pastime, as you handled it,
Some Gothic missal to enrich
With your designs fantastical?
Or did your tearing fingers fall
On some old picture? Which, oh, which
Your dreadful fault? Not one of these;
Only when left yourselves to please
This morning but a moment here
'Mid papers tinted by my mind
You took some embryo verses near—
Half formed, but fully well designed
To open out. Your hearts desire
Was but to throw them on the fire,
Then watch the tinder, for the sight
Of shining sparks that twinkle bright
As little boats that sail at night,
Or like the window lights that spring
From out the dark at evening.
'Twas all, and you were well content.
Fine loss was this for anger's vent—
A strophe ill made midst your play,
Sweet sound that chased the words away
In stormy flight. An ode quite new,
With rhymes inflated—stanzas, too,
That panted, moving lazily,
And heavy Alexandrine lines
That seemed to jostle bodily,
Like children full of play designs
That spring at once from schoolroom's form.
Instead of all this angry storm,
Another might have thanked you well
For saving prey from that grim cell,
That hollowed den 'neath journals great,
Where editors who poets flout
With their demoniac laughter shout.
And I have scolded you! What fate
For charming dwarfs who never meant
To anger Hercules! And I
Have frightened you!—My chair I sent
Back to the wall, and then let fly
A shower of words the envious use—
"Get out," I said, with hard abuse,
"Leave me alone—alone I say."
Poor man alone! Ah, well-a-day,
What fine result—what triumph rare!
As one turns from the coffin'd dead
So left you me:—I could but stare
Upon the door through which you fled—
I proud and grave—but punished quite.
And what care you for this my plight!—
You have recovered liberty,
Fresh air and lovely scenery,
The spacious park and wished-for grass;
lights
And gratefully to sing.
E'e
A blade to watch what comes to pass;
Blue sky, and all the spring can show;
Nature, serenely fair to see;
The book of birds and spirits free,
God's poem, worth much more than mine,
Where flowers for perfect stanzas shine—
Flowers that a child may pluck in play,
No harsh voice frightening it away.
And I'm alone—all pleasure o'er—
Alone with pedant called "Ennui,"
For since the morning at my door
Ennui has waited patiently.
That docto-r-London born, you mark,
One Sunday in December dark,
Poor little ones—he loved you not,
And waited till the chance he got
To enter as you passed away,
And in the very corner where
You played with frolic laughter gay,
He sighs and yawns with weary air.
What can I do? Shall I read books,
Or write more verse—or turn fond looks
Upon enamels blue, sea-green,
And white—on insects rare as seen
Upon my Dresden china ware?
Or shall I touch the globe, and care
To make the heavens turn upon
Its axis? No, not one—not one
Of all these things care I to do;
All wearies me—I think of you.
In truth with you my sunshine fled,
And gayety with your light tread—
Glad noise that set me dreaming still.
'Twas my delight to watch your will,
And mark you point with finger-tips
To help your spelling out a word;
To see the pearls between your lips
When I your joyous laughter heard;
Your honest brows that looked so true,
And said "Oh, yes!" to each intent;
Your great bright eyes, that loved to view
With admiration innocent
My fine old Sèvres; the eager thought
That every kind of knowledge sought;
The elbow push with "Come and see!"
Oh, certes! spirits, sylphs, there be,
And fays the wind blows often here;
The gnomes that squat the ceiling near,
In corners made by old books dim;
The long-backed dwarfs, those goblins grim
That seem at home 'mong vases rare,
And chat to them with friendly air—
Oh, how the joyous demon throng
Must all have laughed with laughter long
To see you on my rough drafts fall,
My bald hexameters, and all
The mournful, miserable band,
And drag them with relentless hand
From out their box, with true delight
To set them each and all a-light,
And then with clapping hands to lean
Above the stove and watch the scene,
How to the mass deformed there came
A soul that showed itself in flame!
Bright tricksy children—oh, I pray
Come back and sing and dance away,
And chatter too—sometimes you may,
A giddy group, a big book seize—
Or sometimes, if it so you please,
With nimble step you'll run to me
And push the arm that holds the pen,
Till on my finished verse will be
A stroke that's like a steeple when
Seen suddenly upon a plain.
My soul longs for your breath again
To warm it. Oh, return—come here
With laugh and babble—and no fear
When with your shadow you obscure
The book I read, for I am sure,
Oh, madcaps terrible and dear,
That you were right and I was wrong.
But who has ne'er with scolding tongue
Blamed out of season. Pardon me!
You must forgive—for sad are we.
The young should not be hard and cold
And unforgiving to the old.
Children each morn your souls ope out
Like windows to the shining day,
Oh, miracle that comes about,
The miracle that children gay
Have happiness and goodness too,
Caressed by destiny are you,
Charming you are, if you but play.
But we with living overwrought,
And full of grave and sombre thought,
Are snappish oft: dear little men,
We have ill-tempered days, and then,
Are quite unjust and full of care;
It rained this morning and the air
Was chill; but clouds that dimm'd the sky
Have passed. Things spited me, and why?
But now my heart repents. Behold
What 'twas that made me cross, and scold!
All by-and-by you'll understand,
When brows are mark'd by Time's stern hand;
Then you will comprehend, be sure,
When older—that's to say, less pure.
The fault I freely own was mine.
But oh, for pardon now I pine!
Enough my punishment to meet,
You must forgive, I do entreat
With clasped hands praying—oh, come back,
Make peace, and you shall nothing lack.
See now my pencils—paper—here,
And pointless compasses, and dear
Old lacquer-work; and stoneware clear
Through glass protecting; all man's toys
So coveted by girls and boys.
Great China monsters—bodies much
Like cucumbers—you all shall touch.
I yield up all! my picture rare
Found beneath antique rubbish heap,
My great and tapestried oak chair
I will from you no longer keep.
You shall about my table climb,
And dance, or drag, without a cry
From me as if it were a crime.
Even I'll look on patiently
If you your jagged toys all throw
Upon my carved bench, till it show
The wood is torn; and freely too,
I'll leave in your own hands to view,
My pictured Bible—oft desired—
But which to touch your fear inspired—
With God in emperor's robes attired.
Then if to see my verses burn,
Should seem to you a pleasant turn,
Take them to freely tear away
Or burn. But, oh! not so I'd say,
If this were Méry's room to-day.
That noble poet! Happy town,
Marseilles the Greek, that him doth own!
Daughter of Homer, fair to see,
Of Virgil's son the mother she.
To you I'd say, Hold, children all,
Let but your eyes on his work fall;
These papers are the sacred nest
In which his crooning fancies rest;
To-morrow winged to Heaven they'll soar,
For new-born verse imprisoned still
In manuscript may suffer sore
At your small hands and childish will,
Without a thought of bad intent,
Of cruelty quite innocent.
You wound their feet, and bruise their wings,
And make them suffer those ill things
That children's play to young birds brings.
But mine! no matter what you do,
My poetry is all in you;
You are my inspiration bright
That gives my verse its purest light.
Children whose life is made of hope,
Whose joy, within its mystic scope,
Owes all to ignorance of ill,
You have not suffered, and you still
Know not what gloomy thoughts weigh down
The poet-writer weary grown.
What warmth is shed by your sweet smile!
How much he needs to gaze awhile
Upon your shining placid brow,
When his own brow its ache doth know;
With what delight he loves to hear
Your frolic play 'neath tree that's near,
Your joyous voices mixing well
With his own song's all-mournful swell!
Come back then, children! come to me,
If you wish not that I should be
As lonely now that you're afar
As fisherman of Etrétat,
Who listless on his elbow leans
Through all the weary winter scenes,
As tired of thought—as on Time flies—
And watching only rainy skies!
MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND.
To Some Birds Flown Away Summary and Analysis
Victor Hugo addresses a household moment with playful remorse: he has scolded children who, in their innocent mischief, destroyed a draft of his poem. What begins as comic complaint turns into a tender reversal, as the poet realizes that the children have not merely caused damage but have also refreshed his world, just as birds, spring air, and sunlight animate the landscape around them. Their laughter, curiosity, and quick movements become part of the poem's emotional center, replacing anger with affection and admiration.
The poem moves from accusation to apology, then to gratitude and finally to a larger reflection on art itself. Hugo contrasts the brittle labor of writing with the natural ease of childhood, suggesting that children are not interruptions to poetry but one of its deepest sources. At the same time, he keeps a sharp awareness of the practical loss: pages can be ruined, labor can be wasted, and the poet's pride can make him absurd. The result is a warm but layered meditation on temperament, creativity, and the way human affection can redeem frustration.
Tone in To Some Birds Flown Away
Hugo's tone is affectionate, self-mocking, and lightly repentant, even when he sounds stern at first. He enjoys the drama of his own irritation, but the poem steadily turns that irritation into warmth and praise. The mood for the reader is more than comic; it is tender, airy, and consoling, with the sense that human affection and childhood vitality can dissolve wounded pride.
This literary analysis was generated with AI and may contain interpretive differences. Provide your analysis in the comments section.
Themes in To Some Birds Flown Away
- Innocence versus artistic labor - The children act without malice, while the poet's drafts represent careful effort and self-conscious craftsmanship. The poem finds humor and tenderness in the clash between spontaneous play and the fragile work of making verse.
- Childhood as inspiration - Rather than treating children as distractions, Hugo presents them as the emotional and imaginative source of his poetry. Their energy, curiosity, and joy revive the poet's mind and give his lines life.
- Regret and forgiveness - The poem turns on the poet's sudden recognition that his anger was excessive. Apology becomes a central act, and the emotional progress of the piece depends on humility and reconciliation.
- Nature and freedom - The children are linked with fresh air, grass, sky, and birds, while the poet is shut indoors with his work. Nature stands for openness, vitality, and a larger poetry beyond the written page.
- Art as vulnerable creation - The burned drafts suggest that poetry is both precious and delicate. Hugo emphasizes how easily work can be altered or destroyed before it reaches its finished form.
- Age and perspective - The poem contrasts the bright certainty of children with the more burdened, irritable outlook of adults. Hugo suggests that maturity brings knowledge, but also fatigue, worry, and a loss of easy delight.
Literary Devices in To Some Birds Flown Away
- Apostrophe - Hugo speaks directly to the children throughout the poem, creating intimacy and immediate emotional movement as he pleads, excuses himself, and invites them back.
- Extended metaphor - The poem repeatedly imagines the children and their actions through comparisons to birds, sparks, flowers, and small creatures, turning the domestic scene into a broader meditation on living energy.
- Personification - Ennui is treated like a guest who waits at the door, giving boredom a visible presence and making the poet's loneliness feel almost theatrical.
- Irony - The poet is angry because the children have destroyed his verses, yet he ultimately admits that their action may have saved him from bad poetry. That reversal gives the poem its wit and self-awareness.
- Imagery - Bright sensory details such as fire, spring air, roses, grass, and birds make the poem vivid and reinforce the contrast between the indoor world of writing and the outdoor world of childhood.
- Cataloguing - Hugo lists objects such as books, porcelain, compasses, china, and drafts to create the cluttered reality of the study and to show how thoroughly the children have entered his working space.
- Hyperbole - The poet exaggerates his outrage and his sense of loss in a comic way, which softens the complaint and keeps the poem affectionate rather than bitter.
- Contrast - The poem sets old age against youth, severity against play, and manuscript against living nature, using these oppositions to sharpen its emotional argument.
Symbolism in To Some Birds Flown Away
- Birds - The title image suggests freedom, departure, and the children's swift, natural movement away from the poet's room and into the open world.
- Burning verses - The destroyed drafts symbolize the fragile early state of artistic creation and the ease with which work can vanish before it matures.
- Spring air and grass - These images stand for renewal, liberty, and the vitality that the children carry with them outside.
- The stove and sparks - Fire here symbolizes both destruction and delight, since the children enjoy watching the pages burn as if it were a game of light.
- The room or study - The enclosed interior becomes a symbol of intellectual labor, irritability, and separation from the world of play.
- Books and manuscripts - These objects represent culture, discipline, and the poet's ambition, but also their vulnerability to accidental loss.
Historical Context of To Some Birds Flown Away
Victor Hugo wrote within French Romanticism, a movement that valued feeling, imagination, individual voice, and vivid contrast. This poem reflects that spirit in its willingness to blend domestic comedy, lyric confession, and elevated comparisons drawn from nature and art. It also shows the Romantic fascination with childhood as a state of freshness and moral clarity, a frequent subject in 19th-century poetry.
Hugo often moves between public grandeur and private intimacy, and this poem belongs to the quieter side of his work, where the poet's study becomes a site of emotional revelation. The piece also fits a broader European Romantic interest in the creative process itself: manuscripts, inspiration, and the struggle between artistic labor and lived experience all become part of the poem's meaning.
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