801. "Night fills the house with its funereal breeze..." by Victor Hugo

Night fills the house with its funereal breeze.
Not a sound. Darkness. Shadowy forms creep
To and fro beside those who are asleep.
While I become a thing,
                                    I feel the things nearby
Being transformed to living entities.
My wall's a face, and sees;
                                         Against the grayish sky
My two pale windows watch me slumbering.

(trans. E. H. and A. M. Blackmore)

Source: Selected Poems of Victor Hugo: A Bilingual Edition