Childhood (Poem by Victor Hugo)

Childhood

By Victor Hugo

The small child sang; the mother, outstretched on the low bed,

    With anguish moaned, — fair Form pain should possess not long;

For, ever nigher, Death hovered around her head:

    I hearkened there this moan, and heard even there that song.

The child was but five years, and, close to the lattice, aye

    Made a sweet noise with games and with his laughter bright;

And the wan mother, aside this being the livelong day

    Carolling joyously, coughed hoarsely all the night.

The mother went to sleep 'mong them that sleep alway;

    And the blithe little lad began anew to sing...

Sorrow is like a fruit: God doth not therewith weigh

    Earthward the branch strong yet but for the blossoming.