The Dead Child - Poem by Francis Jammes
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 The Dead Child by Francis Jammes
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- TelevisionRoald Dahl