<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=534066" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Son In Old Age</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy noble face, Regina, calls to mind<br>My poor lost little one, my latest born.<br>He was a gift from God--a sign of pardon--<br>That child vouchsafed me in my eightieth year!<br>I to his little cradle went, and went,<br>And even while 'twas sleeping, talked to it.<br>For when one's very old, one is a child!<br>Then took it up and placed it on my knees,<br>And with both hands stroked down its soft, light hair--<br>Thou wert not born then--and he would stammer<br>Those pretty little sounds that make one smile!<br>And though not twelve months old, he had a mind.<br>He recognized me--nay, knew me right well,<br>And in my face would laugh--and that child-laugh,<br>Oh, poor old man! 'twas sunlight to my heart.<br>I meant him for a soldier, ay, a conqueror,<br>And named him George. One day--oh, bitter thought!<br>The child played in the fields. When thou art mother,<br>Ne'er let thy children out of sight to play!<br>The gypsies took him from me--oh, for what?<br>Perhaps to kill him at a witch's rite.<br>I weep!--now, after twenty years--I weep<br>As if 'twere yesterday. I loved him so!<br>I used to call him 'my own little king!'<br>I was intoxicated with my joy<br>When o'er my white beard ran his rosy hands,<br>Thrilling me all through.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Victor+Hugo">Victor Hugo</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=534066" data-title="The Son In Old Age de Victor Hugo" data-description="Thy noble face, Regina, calls to mind My poor lost little one, my latest born. He was a gift from God--a sign of pardon-- That child vouchsafed me in my eightieth year! I to his little cradle went, and went, And even while 'twas sleeping, talked t..."></div> </div> </div>

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