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Les épis (LeMay)

Léon Pamphile LeMay · 1914 · Free in the US

68,690 words · about 4 h 49 min to read

Period artwork: Interior of the Bodleian Library, 1845
About this edition

Free in the US: this text is in the public domain in the United States; it may still be in copyright elsewhere.

Licence: PD-US · Published in 1914 (before 1931): public domain in the United States. Text and transcription from fr Wikisource by Wikisource contributors (transcription licensed CC BY-SA 4.0; contributors: https://fr.wikisource.org/w/index.php?title=Les_épis_(LeMay)&action=history). · Wikisource contributors

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About this book

Author
Léon Pamphile LeMay
Language
French
Published
1914
Length
68,690 words · about 4 h 49 min
Sections
52 reader sections
Text
Digital text
Rights
Public domain in the United States

 

Contents (52)
  1. Front matter about 2 h 24 min
  2. 1 under 1 min
  3. 2 about 3 min
  4. 3 about 1 min
  5. 4 about 2 min
  6. 6 about 1 min
  7. 7 about 2 min
  8. 8 about 1 min
  9. 9 about 1 min
  10. 10 about 1 min
  11. 11 about 4 min
  12. 12 about 1 min
  13. 13 about 3 min
  14. 14 about 2 min
  15. 15 about 1 min
  16. 16 about 4 min
  17. 17 about 3 min
  18. 18 about 3 min
  19. 19 about 3 min
  20. 20 about 1 min
  21. 21 about 6 min
  22. 22 about 1 min
  23. 23 about 1 min
  24. 24 about 17 min
  25. 25 about 2 min
  26. 26 about 12 min
  27. 27 about 4 min
  28. 28 about 3 min
  29. 29 about 2 min
  30. 30 about 2 min
  31. 31 about 3 min
  32. 32 about 2 min
  33. 33 about 2 min
  34. 34 about 1 min
  35. 35 about 8 min
  36. 36 about 2 min
  37. 37 about 2 min
  38. 38 about 3 min
  39. 39 about 2 min
  40. 40 about 3 min
  41. 41 about 3 min
  42. 42 about 2 min
  43. 43 about 1 min
  44. 44 about 1 min
  45. 45 about 2 min
  46. 46 about 2 min
  47. 47 about 1 min
  48. 48 about 4 min
  49. 49 about 3 min
  50. 50 about 3 min
  51. 51 about 1 min
  52. 52 about 8 min

Continue:

Front matter

Dans les sillons béants, les jardins, les buissons, Au hasard j’ai semé. Mon front pâle ruisselle. Ma tâche va finir. J’ai dépensé mon zèle À calmer des chagrins au rythme des chansons.

Sur le flot blond des champs, au réveil des moissons, Se penche l’ouvrier ; et la faux étincelle. Ah ! qui sait le secret qu’un lendemain recèle ?… Sur mes épis fauchés il passe des frissons.

Épis frêles perdus dans les touffes de l’herbe, J’ai voulu les lier pour en faire une gerbe, Mais le soleil d’automne a-t-il doré leur grain ?

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