Demain, dès l'aube

The poem written by Victor Hugo of France back in the 1800's is considered the best poetry by the writer who also wrote the play, The Hunchback of Notredam.

From Gary Buchland's website, the text is both written in French and translated into English.

Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.

Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.

Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.

The translation reads, 

Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside is alit,
I will leave. See here, you know what I must do.
I will go through the forest, I will go across the mountain.
I will not remain far from you for long.

I will trudge on with eyes fixed on my thoughts,
Without seeing what it outside of me, without hearing any noise,
Alone, unknown, bent, with crossed hands,
Sad, and the day will be for me as night.

I will not notice either the golden sunset as night falls,
Nor the distant mist which descends over Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I will place on your grave
A bouquet of holly and heather in bloom.

This poem was originally made for his oldest daughter who died when she drowned after a boat captised. Her young husband also died when he tried to rescue her. Hugo wrote this in a grief for her that lives on today as inspiration for many musical arrangements and seen as his greatest work. 

I find that this poem is something that I yearn to want to know. I'm unfortunate to have never been taught many languages and therefore it adds a mystery to the item itself when it is played, for is not the unknown an illusion that we create to bemuddle ourselves into thinking that gives us an unprecedented control of the aspects of  false world we make for ourselves? Or more simply put, doesn't mystery allow us to view the world as we want?

This is why I was sad that I looked up the lyrics to this song when I wrote this, for what it could be was overshadowed by what it is and unlike us it cannot change itself.