Autumn Leaves

by Victor Hugo

Before the songs I joy in singing, 
So young, such wafts of perfume bringing,
    Endured the brunt the world allows,
Far from the crowd and all its crushing, 
Ah! how they bloomed, a garland blushing,
    How green and fragrant, on my brows!
Now torn from off the tree that beareth, 
Flowers which the blighting northwind teareth,
    — Like a dream's leavings pitiable —
They wander, scattered hither and thither, 
In dustiness and mud to wither,
    At the winds' and the waters' will.
And like dead leaves in autumn showered, 
I see them, of their bloom deflowered,
    Blown all along the barren lea;
The while a crowd that presses round me, 
And treads to earth the wreath that crowned me,
    Goes laughing at the naked tree.