Oh! you have said too much to the poor little angel
That there are other angels up there,
That nothing suffers in heaven, that nothing there ever changes,
That it is sweet to return there soon;
That heaven is a dome with marvelous pilasters,
A tent of rich colors,
A blue garden filled with lilies that are stars,
And with stars that are flowers;
That it is a joyous place beyond all telling,
Where always, letting oneself be charmed,
One has the cherubim to play and laugh with,
And the good God to love us;
That it is sweet to be a heart burning like a candle,
And to live, in every season,
Near the child Jesus and the holy Virgin
In so beautiful a house!
And then you have not said enough, poor mother,
To this son so frail and so gentle,
That you belonged to him in this bitter life,
But also that he belonged to you;
That, as long as one is small, the mother watches over us,
But that later one defends her;
And that she will need, when she is old,
A man who is her child;
You have not said enough to this young soul
That God wills that we remain here below,
The woman guiding the man and the man helping the woman,
For sorrows and for battles;
So that one day, O mourning! irreparable loss!
The gentle being has gone away!… –
Alas! you have therefore left the cage open,
So that your bird has flown away!
Victor Hugo
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-to-the-mother-of-the-dead-child-victor-hugo/
