Poems (Hooper)/To a Traveler
TO A TRAVELER.
Ami, vous revenez d'un de ces longs voyages.
From one of those long journeys you return
That make us old and us to sages turn,
Scarce from our cradle come.
Each ocean saw your wandering shadow pass,
And you have girdled all the world, alas!
With your ship's track of foam.
That make us old and us to sages turn,
Scarce from our cradle come.
Each ocean saw your wandering shadow pass,
And you have girdled all the world, alas!
With your ship's track of foam.
Your life has ripened under twenty skies,
Led only by your will's inconstancies,
You plucked or from you cast.
Like to the laborers who reap and sow,
Something you grasped, and of yourself let go
Something, where'er you passed.
Led only by your will's inconstancies,
You plucked or from you cast.
Like to the laborers who reap and sow,
Something you grasped, and of yourself let go
Something, where'er you passed.
Whilst I, your friend, less happy and less wise,
Saw seasons pass beneath the self-same skies;
And, like the verdant tree
That shades my home, my life beside this door
Has taken root, my days here evermore
Fall like dead leaves from me.
Saw seasons pass beneath the self-same skies;
And, like the verdant tree
That shades my home, my life beside this door
Has taken root, my days here evermore
Fall like dead leaves from me.
You've seen so much of mankind, you are weary
And worn out with that contemplation dreary,
To God your thoughts aspire.
You sadly tell me of your fruitless toil,
While of three worlds your feet have mixed the soil
With ashes of my fire.
And worn out with that contemplation dreary,
To God your thoughts aspire.
You sadly tell me of your fruitless toil,
While of three worlds your feet have mixed the soil
With ashes of my fire.
And now, your heart full of dreams deep and rare,
Your hands upon my children's golden hair,
You question me anew.
Thus mournfully your anxious queries run:
"Where are thy parents, and where is thy son?"
Oh, friend, they journey too!
Your hands upon my children's golden hair,
You question me anew.
Thus mournfully your anxious queries run:
"Where are thy parents, and where is thy son?"
Oh, friend, they journey too!
No sun nor moon above their path shall shine;
So jealous is the Master, all resign
Their treasures at his call.
Far off and limitless the path they go,
With mournful faces and with footsteps slow,
And we must follow all.
So jealous is the Master, all resign
Their treasures at his call.
Far off and limitless the path they go,
With mournful faces and with footsteps slow,
And we must follow all.
I saw you leave us, friend, and even so
I saw them all at divers seasons go;
They one by one took flight.
Now I have laid those dear heads 'neath the clay;
I, miser-like, have buried deep away
My treasures from the light.
I saw them all at divers seasons go;
They one by one took flight.
Now I have laid those dear heads 'neath the clay;
I, miser-like, have buried deep away
My treasures from the light.
I saw them go! I, weak and full of fears,
Saw thrice a black cloth sprinkled with white tears,
This corridor enfold.
On their cold hands I, like a woman, wept;
Yet my soul saw their souls, while cold they slept,
Open their wings of gold.
Saw thrice a black cloth sprinkled with white tears,
This corridor enfold.
On their cold hands I, like a woman, wept;
Yet my soul saw their souls, while cold they slept,
Open their wings of gold.
I saw them go, as swallows swift take wing
To seek new summers and more faithful spring
Upon a far-off shore.
My mother first went, first beheld the skies:
And a strange glory lit her dying eyes,
A light unseen before.
To seek new summers and more faithful spring
Upon a far-off shore.
My mother first went, first beheld the skies:
And a strange glory lit her dying eyes,
A light unseen before.
My first-born followed, then my father went;
Full forty years of war their snows had lent
To age his veteran brow.
And now they sleep amid the shadows gray,
The while their souls pass on their somber way,
And go where we must go.
Full forty years of war their snows had lent
To age his veteran brow.
And now they sleep amid the shadows gray,
The while their souls pass on their somber way,
And go where we must go.
And when the moon has set we, if you will,
When night has come, will both ascend the hill
Where our departed rest.
And I will ask, while you behold displayed
The cities of the sleeping and the dead,
Which of them sleep the best?
When night has come, will both ascend the hill
Where our departed rest.
And I will ask, while you behold displayed
The cities of the sleeping and the dead,
Which of them sleep the best?
Come, silent both, we each shall bend an ear
Prone on the earth, and we shall surely hear
(While Paris slumbers-still)
The million dead, the harvest of the tomb,
Like grain within the furrow, in the gloom
Stir with confuséd thrill.
Prone on the earth, and we shall surely hear
(While Paris slumbers-still)
The million dead, the harvest of the tomb,
Like grain within the furrow, in the gloom
Stir with confuséd thrill.
How many joyous live who still should weep
Over their dear ones who eternal sleep.
Oh, might of years that pass!
The dead endure not, leave them in their gloom,
They fall to dust less quickly in the tomb,
Than 1n our hearts, alas!
Over their dear ones who eternal sleep.
Oh, might of years that pass!
The dead endure not, leave them in their gloom,
They fall to dust less quickly in the tomb,
Than 1n our hearts, alas!
O traveler! our madness who can say?
Who knows the dead that men forget each day?
The best-loved leave no trace.
Who knows how quickly human grief may pass?
How many graves one day of growing grass
May from the earth efface?
Victor Hugo.
Who knows the dead that men forget each day?
The best-loved leave no trace.
Who knows how quickly human grief may pass?
How many graves one day of growing grass
May from the earth efface?
Victor Hugo.