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Victor Hugo Short Poems

Famous Short Victor Hugo Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Victor Hugo. A collection of the all-time best Victor Hugo short poems


by Victor Hugo
 ("Les feuilles qui gisaient.") 


 The leaves that in the lonely walks were spread, 
 Starting from off the ground beneath the tread, 
 Coursed o'er the garden-plain; 
 Thus, sometimes, 'mid the soul's deep sorrowings, 
 Our soul a moment mounts on wounded wings, 
 Then, swiftly, falls again. 


 







by Victor Hugo
 ("Aveugle comme Homère.") 
 
 {Improvised at the Café de Paris.} 


 Blind, as was Homer; as Belisarius, blind, 
 But one weak child to guide his vision dim. 
 The hand which dealt him bread, in pity kind— 
 He'll never see; God sees it, though, for him. 
 
 H.L.C., "London Society." 


 





by Victor Hugo
 The Grave said to the Rose, 
"What of the dews of dawn, 
Love's flower, what end is theirs?" 
"And what of spirits flown, 
The souls whereon doth close 
The tomb's mouth unawares?" 
The Rose said to the Grave.
The Rose said, "In the shade From the dawn's tears is made A perfume faint and strange, Amber and honey sweet.
" "And all the spirits fleet Do suffer a sky-change, More strangely than the dew, To God's own angels new," The Grave said to the Rose.

by Victor Hugo
 ("Qu'avez-vous, mes frères?") 
 
 {XI., September, 18288.} 
 
 "Have you prayed tonight, Desdemona?" 


 





by Victor Hugo
 {Inscription under a Statue of the Virgin and Child, at Guernsey.—The 
 poet sees in the emblem a modern Atlas, i.e., Freedom supporting the 
 World.} 
 
 ("Le peuple est petit.") 


 Weak is the People—but will grow beyond all other— 
 Within thy holy arms, thou fruitful victor-mother! 
 O Liberty, whose conquering flag is never furled— 
 Thou bearest Him in whom is centred all the World. 


 





by Victor Hugo
 ("Lorsqu'à l'antique Olympe immolant l'evangile.") 
 
 {Bk. II. v., 1823.} 
 
 {There was in Rome one antique usage as follows: On the eve of the 
 execution day, the sufferers were given a public banquet—at the prison 
 gate—known as the "Free Festival."—CHATEAUBRIAND'S "Martyrs."} 


 





by Victor Hugo
 ("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. 


 





by Thomas Hardy
 Child, were I king, I'd yield my royal rule, 
 My chariot, sceptre, vassal-service due, 
My crown, my porphyry-basined waters cool, 
My fleets, whereto the sea is but a pool, 
 For a glance from you! 

Love, were I God, the earth and its heaving airs, 
 Angels, the demons abject under me, 
Vast chaos with its teeming womby lairs, 
Time, space, all would I give--aye, upper spheres, 
 For a kiss from thee!

by Victor Hugo
 ("O palais, sois bénié.") 
 
 {II., June, 1839.} 


 Palace and ruin, bless thee evermore! 
 Grateful we bow thy gloomy tow'rs before; 
 For the old King of France{1} hath found in thee 
 That melancholy hospitality 
 Which in their royal fortune's evil day, 
 Stuarts and Bourbons to each other pay. 
 
 Fraser's Magazine. 
 
 {Footnote 1: King Charles X.} 


 





by Victor Hugo
 ("Vous voilà dans la froide Angleterre.") 
 
 {Bk. III. xlvii., Jersey, Sept. 19, 1854.} 


 You may doubt I find comfort in England 
 But, there, 'tis a refuge from dangers! 
 Where a Cromwell dictated to Milton, 
 Republicans ne'er can be strangers! 


 





by Victor Hugo
 Where are the hapless shipmen?—disappeared, 
 Gone down, where witness none, save Night, hath been, 
 Ye deep, deep waves, of kneeling mothers feared, 
 What dismal tales know ye of things unseen? 
 Tales that ye tell your whispering selves between 
 The while in clouds to the flood-tide ye pour; 
 And this it is that gives you, as I ween, 
 Those mournful voices, mournful evermore, 
 When ye come in at eve to us who dwell on shore. 


 





by Victor Hugo
 ("Laissez-moi pleurer sur cette race.") 
 
 {I. v.} 


 Oh! let me weep that race whose day is past, 
 By exile given, by exile claimed once more, 
 Thrice swept away upon that fatal blast. 
 Whate'er its blame, escort we to our shore 
 These relics of the monarchy of yore; 
 And to th' outmarching oriflamme be paid 
 War's honors by the flag on Fleurus' field displayed! 
 
 Fraser's Magazine 


 





by Victor Hugo
 ("Où vas-tu donc, jeune âme.") 
 
 {XV.} 


 





by Victor Hugo
 ("Vous qui pleurez, venez à ce Dieu.") 
 
 {Bk. III. iv., March, 1842.} 


 Ye weepers, the Mourner o'er mourners behold! 
 Ye wounded, come hither—the Healer enfold! 
 Ye gloomy ones, brighten 'neath smiles quelling care— 
 Or pass—for this Comfort is found ev'rywhere. 
 
 {Footnote 1: Music by Gounod.} 


 





by Victor Hugo
 {Bought with the proceeds of Readings of "Les Châtiments" during 
 the Siege of Paris.} 
 
 {1872.} 


 Thou deadly crater, moulded by my muse, 
 Cast thou thy bronze into my bowed and wounded heart, 
 And let my soul its vengeance to thy bronze impart! 


 





by Victor Hugo
 ("Comme dans les étangs.") 
 
 {X., May, 1839.} 


 As in some stagnant pool by forest-side, 
 In human souls two things are oft descried; 
 The sky,—which tints the surface of the pool 
 With all its rays, and all its shadows cool; 
 The basin next,—where gloomy, dark and deep, 
 Through slime and mud black reptiles vaguely creep. 
 
 R.F. HODGSON 


 





by Victor Hugo
 ("Pendant que dans l'auberge.") 
 
 {Bk. IV. xiii., Jersey, November, 1852.} 


 While in the jolly tavern, the bandits gayly drink, 
 Upon the haunted highway, sharp hoof-beats loudly clink? 
 Yea; past scant-buried victims, hard-spurring sturdy steed, 
 A mute and grisly rider is trampling grass and weed, 
 And by the black-sealed warrant which in his grasp shines clear, 
 I known it is the Future—God's Justicer is here!