Dante écrit deux vers
Dante écrit deux vers, puis il sort ; et les deux vers
Se parlent. Le premier dit : - Les cieux sont ouverts.
Cieux ! je suis immortel. - Moi, je suis périssable.
Dit l'autre. - je suis l'astre. - Et moi le grain de sable.
- Quoi ! tu doutes étant fils d'un enfant du ciel !
- Je me sens mort. - Et moi, je me sens éternel.
Quelqu'un rentre et relit ces vers, Dante lui-même :
Il garde le premier et barre le deuxième.
La rature est la haute et fatale cloison.
L'un meurt, et l'autre vit. Tous deux avaient raison.
poem by Victor Hugo
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A day will come when there will be no battlefields, but markets opening to commerce and minds opening to ideas. A day will come when the bullets and bombs are replaced by votes, by universal suffrage, by the venerable arbitration of a great supreme senate which will be to Europe what Parliament is to England, the Diet to Germany, and the Legislative Assembly to France. A day will come when a cannon will be a museum-piece, as instruments of torture are today. And we will be amazed to think that these things once existed!
classic quote by Victor Hugo
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The Worst Treason
The deepest infamy man can attain,
Is to strangle Rome, or France enchain;
Whate'er the place, the land, the city be,
'T is to rob man of soul and liberty;
'T is with drawn sword the senate to invade,
And murder law in its own court betrayed.
To enslave the land is guilt of such black dye,
It is ne'er quitted by God's vengeful eye;
The crime once done, they day of grace expires,
Heaven's punishment, which, howe'er slow, ne'er tires,
Begins to march, and comes serene and calm,
With her steel knotted whip beneath her arm.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Chanson de grand-père
Dansez, les petites filles,
Toutes en rond.
En vous voyant si gentilles,
Les bois riront.
Dansez, les petites reines,
Toutes en rond.
Les amoureux sous les frênes
S'embrasseront.
Dansez, les petites folles,
Toutes en rond.
Les bouquins dans les écoles
Bougonneront.
Dansez, les petites belles,
Toutes en rond.
Les oiseaux avec leurs ailes
Applaudiront.
[...] Read more
poem by Victor Hugo
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Chanson d'autrefois (autre)
Jamais elle ne raille,
Étant un calme esprit ;
Mais toujours elle rit. -
Voici des brins de mousse avec des brins de paille ;
Fauvette des roseaux,
Fais ton nid sur les eaux.
Quand sous la clarté douce
Qui sort de tes beaux yeux,
On passe, on est joyeux. -
Voici des brins de paille avec des brins de mousse ;
Martinet de l'azur,
Fais ton nid dans mon mur.
Dans l'aube avril se mire,
Et les rameaux fleuris
Sont pleins de petits cris. -
Voici de son regard, voici de son sourire,
Amour, ô doux vainqueur,
Fais ton nid dans mon coeur.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Apostrophe to Nature
O Sun! bright face aye undefiled;
O flowers i' the valley blooming wild;
Caverns, dim haunt of Solitude;
Perfume whereby one's step's beguiled
Deep, deep into the sombre wood;
O Sacred mounts that heavenward climb,
White as a temple-front, sublime;
Old oaks that centuries' might inherit
(Somewhat whereof I feel, what time
'Neath you I stand, endues my spirit);
O virgin forest, crystal spring,
Lake where no storm for long can fling
Darkness, clear heaven-reflecting face,—
Pure soul of Nature unslumbering,
What think you of this bandit base?
poem by Victor Hugo
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Epitaph
He lived, he played, a little laughing sprite:
Why, Nature, didst thou snatch him from the light?
Hast thou not myriad birds within thy bowers?
Stars, and great woods, blue skies, and ocean wild?
Why, then, from his lone mother snatch the child,
And hid him underneath the bed of flowers?
This one child more cannot enlarge thy reign,
Star-spangled Nature; thou no joy dost gain.
The Mother's heart so many cares oppress—
That heart whose joys do equal pangs create—
Abyss, as thou, O Nature! deep and great,
Is empty made and void, by this child less.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Oh, Why Not Be Happy?
[RUY BLAS, Act II.]
Oh, why not be happy this bright summer day,
'Mid perfume of roses and newly-mown hay?
Great Nature is smiling--the birds in the air
Sing love-lays together, and all is most fair.
Then why not be happy
This bright summer day,
'Mid perfume of roses
And newly-mown hay?
The streamlets they wander through meadows so fleet,
Their music enticing fond lovers to meet;
The violets are blooming and nestling their heads
In richest profusion on moss-coated beds.
Then why not be happy
This bright summer day,
When Nature is fairest
And all is so gay?
poem by Victor Hugo
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The Spanish Lady’s Love
[HERNANI, ACT I.]
To mount the hills or scaffold, we go to-morrow:
Hernani, blame me not for this my boldness.
Art thou mine evil genius or mine angel?
I know not, but I am thy slave. Now hear me:
Go where thou wilt, I follow thee. Remain,
And I remain. Why do I thus? I know not.
I feel that I must see thee--see thee still--
See thee for ever. When thy footstep dies,
It is as if my heart no more would beat;
When thou art gone, I am absent from myself;
But when the footstep which I love and long for
Strikes on mine ear again--then I remember
I live, and feel my soul return to me.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Demain, dès l'aube...
Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.
Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.
Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.
poem by Victor Hugo
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