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DEATH, IN LIFE by Victor Hugo
     ("Ceux-ci partent.")

     {Bk. III. v., February, 1843.}
         We pass—these sleep
     Beneath the shade where deep-leaved boughs
     Bend o'er the furrows the Great Reaper ploughs,
     And gentle summer winds in many sweep
         Whirl in eddying waves
         The dead leaves o'er the graves.

         And the living sigh:
     Forgotten ones, so soon your memories die.
     Ye never more may list the wild bird's song,
     Or mingle in the crowded city-throng.
         Ye must ever dwell in gloom,
         'Mid the silence of the tomb.

         And the dead reply:
     God giveth us His life. Ye die,
     Your barren lives are tilled with tears,
     For glory, ye are clad with fears.
         Oh, living ones! oh, earthly shades!
         We live; your beauty clouds and fades.


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