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THE QUIET RURAL CHURCH by Victor Hugo
     It was a humble church, with arches low,
       The church we entered there,
     Where many a weary soul since long ago
       Had past with plaint or prayer.

     Mournful and still it was at day's decline,
       The day we entered there;
     As in a loveless heart, at the lone shrine,
       The fires extinguished were.

     Scarcely was heard to float some gentlest sound,
       Scarcely some low breathed word,
     As in a forest fallen asleep, is found
       Just one belated bird.
     A STORM SIMILE.

     ("Oh, regardez le ciel!")

     {June, 1828.}
     See, where on high the moving masses, piled
     By the wind, break in groups grotesque and wild,
           Present strange shapes to view;
     Oft flares a pallid flash from out their shrouds,
     As though some air-born giant 'mid the clouds
           Sudden his falchion drew.

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