Epitaph

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EPITAPH by Victor Hugo
     ("Il vivait, il jouait.")

     {Bk. III. xv., May, 1843.}
     He lived and ever played, the tender smiling thing.
     What need, O Earth, to have plucked this flower from blossoming?
     Hadst thou not then the birds with rainbow-colors bright,
       The stars and the great woods, the wan wave, the blue sky?
       What need to have rapt this child from her thou hadst placed him byâ€"
     Beneath those other flowers to have hid this flower from sight?

     Because of this one child thou hast no more of might,
     O star-girt Earth, his death yields thee not higher delight!
     But, ah! the mother's heart with woe for ever wild,
       This heart whose sovran bliss brought forth so bitter birthâ€"
       This world as vast as thou, even thou, O sorrowless Earth,
     Is desolate and void because of this one child!

     NELSON K. TYERMAN.

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