by
Francis Jammes (1868 - 1938)
Amie, souviens‑toi
Language: French (Français)
Amie, souviens-toi de ce jour où les prairies étaient de pierre,
où les vallées étaient mouillées par la lumière,
où les montagnes avaient les teintes de ces liqueurs
balsamiques fabriquées par des religieux.
C’était au soir et je sentais que s’élargissait mon cœur
vers la neige des hauts pics dorés, verts, et des pleurs
montaient à mes yeux en songeant au pays de mon enfance,
là-bas, vers l’air pur et froid, vers les neiges denses,
vers les montagnards, vers les bergers, vers les brebis,
vers les chèvres et les chiens gardiens et les flûtes
de buis que les mains calleuses rendent luisantes,
vers les cloches rauques des troupeaux piétinants,
vers les presbytères doux, vers les gamins
qui suivaient en chantant les conscrits qui chantaient,
vers les eaux d’été, vers les poissons blancs aux ailes rouges,
vers la fontaine de la place du village
où j’étais un petit garçon triste et sage.
Text Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Grant Hicks) , "My dear, think back", copyright © 2025, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2023-01-31
Line count: 17
Word count: 151
My dear, think back
Language: English after the French (Français)
My dear, think back to that day when the meadows were of stone,
when the valleys were drenched in light,
when the mountains were tinted like those
balsamic liqueurs concocted by monks.
It was in the evening and I felt my heart swell
toward the snow of the high peaks, golden and green, and tears
rose to my eyes when I thought of the land of my childhood,
over there, toward the fresh, cool air, toward the dense snows,
toward the mountain folk, toward the shepherds, toward the sheep,
toward the goats and the guard dogs and the flutes
of boxwood polished bright by callused hands,
toward the raucous bells of the trudging flocks,
toward the pleasant manses, toward the urchins
who sang as they followed the singing conscripts,
toward the summer waters, toward the white fishes with red fins,
toward the fountain in the village square
where I was a small boy, sad and wise.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2025 by Grant Hicks, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2025-06-23
Line count: 17
Word count: 156
