Francis Jammes, 'The Old Village'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

The Old Village

The old village was with roses filled,
And I went wandering in the heat of the day,
And, after, o'er the sleeping leaves that chilled
The feet that walked among them where they lay.

And then along a worn-out wall, the belt
Of a wide park whence came a gentle breeze,
And there an odour of the past I smelt
In the white roses and the mighty trees.

Now uninhabited by anyone ...
They used to read here when this grass was cropped ...
And now, as though the rain had but just stopped,
The ebon-trees shine under the raw sun.

The children of old time went, linking hands,
In the park's shade, and romped around these roots ...
Playing about red plants with dangerous fruits
That had been brought from very distant lands.

Their parents, pointing out the shrubs that thrived
In the rich soil, would say to them: Take care!
There's poison here ... from India this arrived ...
And that is belladona over there.

They said besides: This tree here by the wall,
Your uncle brought it with him from Japan ...
Then it was very delicate and small,
With leaves as big as the finger-nails of a man.

( They said besides: We can remember yet )

By Francis Jammes
Translated by Jethro Bithel