Tomorrow, at dawn, when the fields bleach in the sun,
I will set out. I know it’s me you’re waiting for.
I will pass through the forest and pass by the mountains:
I can’t be separated from you any more.
I will walk with my eyes fixed only on my thoughts,
Without a sideways glance, strange and solitary,
For my back will be bent and my hands will be crossed
In sadness, and the day will be like night to me.
I won’t look at the gold of evening as it falls,
Nor the sails in the distance descending on Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I’ll put flowers on your tomb,
A bouquet of holly and some heather that’s in bloom.
Victor Hugo, The Contemplations, 1856