Poems by Victor Hugo
page 165 of 429 (38%)
page 165 of 429 (38%)
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The grave receives us all: Ye butterflies and roses gay and sweet Why do ye linger, say? Will ye not dwell together as is meet? Somewhere high in the air Would thy wing seek a home 'mid sunny skies, In mead or mossy dell-- If there thy odors longest, sweetest rise. Have where ye will your dwelling, Or breath or tint whose praise we sing; Butterfly shining bright, Full-blown or bursting rosebud, flow'r or wing. Dwell together ye fair, 'Tis a boon to the loveliest given; Perchance ye then may choose your home On the earth or in heaven. W.C. WESTBROOK A SIMILE. _("Soyez comme l'oiseau.")_ [XXXIII. vi.] |
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