VH

Victor Hugo one of France's greatest writers (I think).

In summer, when day has fled, when covered with flowers

The distant plain sheds sweet intoxication;

Eyes closed, and ears half-open to muted hours,

We lie only half-asleep in transparent slumber.



The stars seem purer the shade is more delightful;

A hazy half-light colours the dome on high;

And dawn, pale and tender, awaiting her moment,

Seems to wander about all night in the deeps of the sky.