The Other, Poem by Victor Hugo

Poem by Victor Hugo Collection The Art of Being a GrandfatherThemes ChildhoodPeriod 19th century

Come, my George. Ah! the sons of our sons enchant us,
They are young morning voices that sing.
They are in our gloomy dwellings the return
Of roses, of spring, of life and of day!
Their laughter draws a tear to our eyelids
And makes the stones of our old threshold tremble;
From the half-open tomb and the heavy, cold years
Their radiant gaze dispels our fears;
They lead our soul back to our earliest years;
They make all our faded flowers bloom again in us;
We find ourselves gentle, naive, happy with nothing;
The serene heart fills with a vague airiness;
Seeing them, we think we see ourselves blossom;
Yes, to become a grandfather is to return to the dawn.
The cheerful old man mingles with the triumphant little ones.
We grow small again in the little children.
And, calmed, we watch fly away into the branches
Our dark soul with all those white souls.

Victor Hugo

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