Mothers, the Child Who Plays at Your Joyful Threshold, Poem by Victor Hugo

Poem by Victor Hugo Collection Les Rayons et les OmbresPeriod 19th century

Mothers, the child who plays at your joyful threshold,
More frail than flowers, more serene than the skies,
Advises you of love, modesty, and wisdom.
The child is a pure fire whose warmth caresses;
It is holy gaiety and sacred happiness,
It is the father’s name in a golden ray;
And you need only this humble flame
To see distinctly into the shadow of your soul.
Mothers, the child whom one mourns and who has gone away,
If you lift your faces to the starry sky,
Pours upon your grief an august light;
For the innocent enlightens just as well as the just!
It shows, gentle clarity, to your cast-down eyes,
Behind our pride, behind our virtues,
Behind our misfortunes, God profound and tranquil.
Whether the child lives or sleeps, it always shines!
On this earth where nothing goes far without help,
Where our uncertain days hang over so many abysses,
Like a guide amid the mists that spread
Our dark vices and our mocking doubts,
Living, the child shows duty to your hearts;
Dead, it is the truth that it unveils to your soul.
Here, it is a torch; up there, it is a star.
March 27, 1840.

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-mothers-the-child-who-plays-at-your-joyful-threshold-victor-hugo/