The Tall Streaks Of A Small Child

Oh among the suns, the scepters, the starlights, The porticos so blithe, the palaces of liquid sapphire, Sung the saintly rays of light, rung the sacred chimes Whos an adroit agate west wind: In the torrent of Love where all souls are inspired, Where wet with fire, the seraphim drench In the floating orb where without cease they conspire With the author of the language French; Amidst joy without end among childlike souls When their signs, of some ancient aster astray in the skies, With what long effort that their voices enfold Guiding the chancellors rides. Or for whom enter these arms of some virgin delight The taking of an healthy bather their figures dreidel, And laugh, their deposition on first sight of light Their final fears being in their cradles; Or when in the end, in her arch bent, at that profound, Ranging from cloud to cloud her shroud dowsed, Jesus, for accomplice whom He said to Mound This place pressed Crossed by Mother housed; Oh! In this world of auspicion where nothing is ephemeral, In these floods of good humor which trouble not the liver, Child! Long for smiles and pleasures from your mother-full , Is that not the little orphan in the Jordan River?

October 1823 Victor Hugo November 9, 2013 translation Joseph Markenstein