Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Le plus beau poeme d’Hugo. Puisi terindah Victor Hugo

Demain, dès l’aube…

Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends.
J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.
Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.
Je ne regarderai ni l’or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j’arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.
Victor Hugo, extrait du recueil «Les Contemplations»

Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside whitens, 
I will set out. I know you are waiting for me. 
I will travel through the forest, and over the mountains, 
I can no longer remain far from you. 

I will walk with my eyes fixed upon my thoughts, 
Seeing nothing around me, hearing no sound. 
Alone, friendless, my back curved, my hands crossed, 
And the day, for me, will be as the night. 

Now that Paris, with its cobbles and marble, 
And its hazy rooftops are so far from my eyes; 
Now that I am beneath the branches of the trees, 
I can marvel at the beauty of the skies. 

Now brought to a standstill by these divine visions, 
Plains, rocks, forests, valleys and silver streams, 
Seeing my insignificance, and seeing your miracles, 
I come to my senses before this immensity. 

We only ever see one side of a story; 
The other side is plunged into dark and fearful mystery. 
Man yields to his yoke, without understanding why. 
All that he sees is short-lived, pointless and fleeting. 

I will not watch the golden close of evening, 
Nor the sails that glide towards Harfleur, 
And, when I arrive, I will lay on your grave 
A bouquet of green holly and heather in bloom. 

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