Hugo’s “Child at Play”

A child was singing at his play--
I heard the song, and paused to hear;
His mother moaning, groaning lay,
And, lo! a spectre stood anear!

The child shook sunlight from his hair,
And carolled gayly all day long--
Aye, with that spectre gloating there,
The innocent made mirth and song!

How like to harvest fruit wert thou,
O sorrow, in that dismal room--
God ladeth not the tender bough
Save with the joy of bud and bloom!