J. Valjean Poem by Pierre Rausch

There were certain name
Covered with and saved
Within a deep furnace
Legitimate as grievance

The rough theories of eighty-nine
Of wrong and liberty
That cats transform
Into establishment

The tricolore Orion
To the footrope a swinging devotion
A ship that had been ailing
After seven or eight

To treat you to play
And, from one instant
That officer hadn't broken the chain
(Captured, recaptured, captured) It's strange

Not escape otherwise than with shame
If it had gradually become something
And from there to the main-top
To drag the sailor up,

The gendarmerie, who'd investigate
Who'd capture, on the first floor,
On the eighth whistle,
Where we arrive under (the window)

Evening, Luxembourg
'The gentleman on the third floor? '
'Has moved away“
'Where is he living now? '

He did not leave his adress
Fallen waylay to tresses
Recognizable by rough mane
Take care that it should be

Gave him a ship, you have Austerlitz
Swiss chard made of tenderness
Ribbons on her bodice
Of her eyes nothing could be known

That the thing which seemed chiefly

To bring him to decision

Ignored to know where he came from
He isn't an adventurer
To be blind and to be loved
To feel one's self all the more

You hear a breath very near yourself
Now I appear in off thought
The angel soul is outside

Courtesy of the state women
Who appears like reality
Does not lose, bed and breakfast

Who is curious by the borrow
Evening Paris, a great view in a petty world
English army was profoundly shaken
It is because he was a servant in his family

The squares still held firm
Turning bristle of fray
Infallible to a coat of arm
Him with his eyelash until

His upper lip raised
They are in equality and right
Adoring presence
That these encounters seem to follow
It is clear that he has appeared
By fortress and ship
Formalities of roadsteads and citadel
'Monsieur (le Cure) , have you seen a pass? '