The Dead Child
A small house with a dog in front ...
O my love! Tonight, this rose is wet.
In the big park, by the rusty gate,
I walk with you in a timeless dream.
It drizzles outside; come here, come ... the wind
In the bay-trees sobs ... Oh! Don't be frightened!
Keep your little arms around my neck ...
Let us make our dead hearts living again.
Plunge with your soft eyes of dark violet
Into my sad and serious glance which reflects
My grief ... Hear my voice ... It is the death knell.
I lead her gently in her little dress,
The one I loved, my little dead girl
With pale face and lilacs in her wax hands.
Comments about this poem (The Dead Child by Francis Jammes )
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