Poems by Francis Jammes

Poems by Francis Jammes

It Is Going To Snow, by Francis Jammes

IT is going to snow in a few days. I remember
This time last year. My heart, O how it bled!

You Would Be Naked, by Francis Jammes

You would be naked on the wet and pink heather,
like those women one reads of in school,

You Come When the Sun Sinks Low, by Francis Jammes

You come when the sun sinks low,
accompanied by the hum of bees.   You come laughing with...

With Feet at the Fire, by Francis Jammes

WITH feet at the fire, I am thinking of those birds
Which told Columbus that the land was nigh....

There Are Days in June, by Francis Jammes

There are days in June that seem to be December.
Thus sometimes the substance of this room

Summer of Roses, by Francis Jammes

Summer of roses! O empress of flowers!
You are all I care to know:
    you and your...

Prayer To Go To Paradise With the Asses, by Francis Jammes

O GOD, when You send for me, let it be
Upon some festal day of dusty roads.
I wish, as I did...

The Old Village, by Francis Jammes

THE old village was with roses filled,
And I went wandering in the heat of the day,
And, aft...

Madame de Warens, by Francis Jammes

MADAME DE WARENS, you would watch the storm
Folding the dark trees of your sad Charmettes,

Love, by Francis Jammes

LASS, when they talk of love, laugh in their face.
They find not love who seek it far and wide...

Amsterdam, by Francis Jammes

THE pointed houses lean so you would swear
That they were falling. Tangled vessel masts
Like le...

In the Foliage, by Francis Jammes

As I stand in the foliage
        which soaked, drips itself dry

I Love ..., by Francis Jammes

I LOVE in old days Clara d'Ellé beuse,
The school-girl of old boarding-schools,
Who, ...

The Forest Paths, by Francis Jammes

THE forest paths are muddy, after the rain;
The meadows are soaked through and through again.

The Fever, by Francis Jammes

The brooms glow in the desolate moors;
on the ochre hills, the heather sings:
But you cannot...