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Victor Hugo - The Exile’s Desire
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Would I could see you, native land,
Where lilacs and the almond stand
Behind fields flowering to the strand--
            But no!

Can I--oh, father, mother, crave
Another final blessing save
To rest my head upon your grave?--
            But no!

In the one pit where ye repose,
Would I could tell of France`s woes,
My brethren, who fell facing foes--
            But no!

Would I had--oh, my dove of light,
After whose flight came ceaseless night,
One plume to clasp so purely white.--
            But no!

Far from ye all--oh, dead, bewailed!
The fog-bell deafens me empaled
Upon this rock--I feel enjailed--
            Though free.

Like one who watches at the gate
Lest some shall `scape the doomed strait.
I watch! the tyrant, howe`er late,
            Must fall!
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