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XXVI
The hunter dreams in the woods
Of beauties seated on the grass,
And in the shadow he sometimes thinks he sees
Uncertain forms dancing.
The soldier thinks of his destinies
While watching over empires,
And in his distant memories
Glimpses vague smiles.
The shepherd waits under the blue sky
For the hour when his peaceful star
Will bloom, flower of fire,
At the tip of an invisible stem.
Look at them, look again
As the virgin, daughter of Eve,
Casts while running through the golden wheat
Her song that contains her dream!
See wandering in the flowering fields,
Back bent, eyelids lowered,
The poet, that bird catcher,
Who seeks to catch thoughts.
See on the sea the sailors
Imploring the fragrant land,
Weary of the foam of the waves,
And asking for a smoke!
Remembering when the black wave
Beats the plaintive sides of the ship,
The hamlets so joyful in the evening,
The trees full of bursts of laughter!
See the priest, praying for all,
Pure brow that bows beneath our faults,
Dreaming in the temple, on his knees
On the folds of his white robe.
See rising on the heights
All those great thinkers whom you name,
Dark dominating spirits,
Oaks in the forest of men.
See, brooding over her treasure with her eyes,
The mother contemplating, delighted,
Her child, a heart still without shadow,
A vessel that life will fill!
All, in joy or in affront,
Bear, without cloud and without stain,
A word that shines on their brow,
In their soul a word that hides.
According to the Lord’s designs,
The word that is seen varies for all;
— One has: Glory! the other has: Happiness!
One says: Virtue! the other: Country!
The hidden word does not change.
In all hearts always the same;
It sings or moans softly there;
And this word is the supreme word!
It is the word that can lull
The weariness of the most morose brow!
It is the mysterious sigh
That at every hour all things make!
It is the word from which other words
Come forth as from an austere trunk,
And which fills with its branches
All the languages of the earth!
It is the verb, obscure or vermilion,
That shines in the reflection of rivers,
In the lighthouse, in the sun,
In the dark lamp of widows!
That mingles with the sound of reeds,
With the quivering of doves;
That chatters and laughs in cradles,
And that one feels living at the bottom of tombs!
That makes blossom in the woods
Leaves, breaths, wings,
Clemency in the hearts of great kings,
Smiles on the lips of beauties!
It is the knot of meadows and waters!
It is the charm that is composed
Of the tenderest cry of birds,
Of the sweetest perfume of the rose!
It is the hymn that the bitter abyss
Sings while pushing sails to port!
It is the mystery of the sea,
And it is the secret of the stars!
This word, eternal foundation
Of the second of the two Romes,
Is Faith in the language of heaven,
Love in the language of men!
To love is to have in one’s hands
A thread for all trials,
A torch for all paths,
A cup for all rivers!
To love is to understand the heavens.
It is to place, whether one sleeps or wakes,
A light in one’s eyes,
A music in one’s ear!
It is to warm oneself at what boils!
It is to bend one’s fragrant soul
Over the divine side of everything!
Thus, my sweet beloved,
You mingle your heart and your senses,
In the retreat where you welcome me,
With the ravishing dialogues
Of waves, stars, and leaves!
The window lets the day be seen;
Despite our mists and our doubts,
O my angel! through love
All truths appear!
Man and woman, happy couple,
For whom the heart serves as apostle,
Let the sky be seen behind them,
And are transparent to each other.
They have within them, as a black lake
Reflects a star in its pure water,
Of the hidden God whom one cannot see
A luminous figure!
Let us love! let us pray! the woods are green,
The summer shines on the moss,
The seeds live half-open,
The wave flows and the grass grows!
Let the crowd, far from us,
Follow its insane roads.
Let us love, and fall to our knees,
And let our thoughts go!
Love, whether it comes sooner or later,
Proves God in our dark soul.
There must be a body somewhere
For the mirror to have a shadow.
May 23, 1839.
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-a-thousand-paths-one-goal-victor-hugo/