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