Vous demandez \u00e0 quoi je r\u00eave?
\nJe me souviens qu’un jour, jadis,
\nA l’heure o\u00f9 l’aube qui se l\u00e8ve
\nOuvre ses yeux de paradis,<\/p>\n
Je passais, parmi des colombes,
\nDans un cimeti\u00e8re, jardin
\nQui, couvrant de roses les tombes,
\nCache le n\u00e9ant sous l’\u00e9den.<\/p>\n
J’errais dans cette ombre insalubre
\nO\u00f9 les croix noires sont debout…
\nUne grande pierre lugubre
\nSe mit \u00e0 vivre tout \u00e0 coup.<\/p>\n
C’\u00e9tait, dans l’herbe et les pervenches,
\nUn s\u00e9pulcre sombre et hautain
\nQu’effleura soudain sous les branches
\nUn furtif \u00e9clair du matin;<\/p>\n
II \u00e9tait l\u00e0 sous une yeuse,
\nTriste, et comme pour l’apaiser,
\nLa jeune aube myst\u00e9rieuse
\nDonnait \u00e0 ce spectre un baiser.<\/p>\n
Et cela rendit, \u00f4 merveille,
\nLa vie au s\u00e9pulcre hagard.
\nCe sourd-muet ouvrit l’oreille
\nEt cet aveugle eut un regard.<\/p>\n
En voyant venir la lumi\u00e8re,
\nComme au d\u00e9sert le noir Sina,
\nCe sinistre linceul de pierre
\nO\u00f9 pleure une \u00e2me, rayonna.<\/p>\n
Et je le vis, dans le bois sombre,
\nDans le champ pestilentiel,
\nComme transfigur\u00e9 dans l’ombre
\nPar cette dorure du ciel.<\/p>\n
Ce n’\u00e9tait plus la dalle affreuse,
\nQui se dresse hors de tout bruit,
\nSous laquelle un gouffre se creuse,
\nPlein d’\u00e9toiles, mais plein de nuit;<\/p>\n
Ce n’\u00e9tait plus la tombe o\u00f9 r\u00eave
\nUn vague fant\u00f4me banni,
\nAb\u00eeme o\u00f9 le fini s’ach\u00e8ve,
\nBorne o\u00f9-commence l’infini.<\/p>\n
Gr\u00e2ce \u00e0 l’aube, au pied du vieil arbre,
\nDans la ronce et dans le gen\u00eat,
\nLe froid granit, l’orgueilleux marbre
\nQue le ver de terre conna\u00eet,<\/p>\n
Illuminait ces bois fun\u00e8bres,
\nCraints de l’homme, aim\u00e9s du corbeau,
\nEt, calme, avait dans les t\u00e9n\u00e8bres
\nOn ne sait quel air de flambeau.<\/p>\n
Il cessa d’\u00eatre le fant\u00f4me.
\nLe liseron fut \u00e9bloui,
\nEt l’oeillet lui jeta son baume;
\nLes fleurs n’eurent plus peur de lui.<\/p>\n
Les roses que nos yeux admirent
\nBais\u00e8rent son socle d\u00e9truit,
\nEt les petits oiseaux se mirent
\nA chanter autour de sa nuit.<\/p>\n
Noble femme aux vaincus fid\u00e8le,
\nVotre sourire frais et beau,
\nQuand il luit sur moi, rappelle
\nCette aurore sur ce tombeau.<\/p>\n
V. H. 5 septembre.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"parent":0,"template":"","meta":{"inline_featured_image":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"default","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"default","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"set","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}}},"annee":[252],"poems-book":[293],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[206],"class_list":["post-10157","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-252","poems-book-toute-la-lyre","poete-victor-hugo"],"yoast_head":"\n