Deux roseaux, dans les airs entrela\u00e7aient leurs jours
\nEt leurs nuits ; ils pliaient, ils balan\u00e7aient leur t\u00eate
\nEnsemble ; agenouill\u00e9s aux pieds de la temp\u00eate,
\nIls ne se faisaient qu\u2019un pour \u00eatre \u00e0 deux toujours !<\/p>\n
L\u2019amiti\u00e9 n\u2019eut jamais de plus \u00e9troite cha\u00eene
\nAu monde ; on n\u2019a rien vu de mieux uni jamais ;
\nOn e\u00fbt dit qu\u2019ils s\u2019aimaient jusqu\u2019\u00e0 manquer d\u2019haleine ;
\nJe ne les plaignais pas d\u2019\u00eatre roseaux, j\u2019aimais !<\/p>\n
Et de ce frais hymen montait une harmonie,
\nQui parlait ! qui chantait ! triste, intime, infinie,
\nQuand leur sort haletant demandait au soleil,
\nDe leur donner un jour, encore un jour vermeil !<\/p>\n
Sit\u00f4t qu\u2019apparaissaient l\u2019aube et sa s\u0153ur l\u2019aurore :
\n\u00ab Quel bonheur ! disait l\u2019un, je vois le ciel encore,
\nJe vous vois ! \u00bb L\u2019autre aussi r\u00e9pondait : \u00ab Quel bonheur !
\nMais j\u2019\u00e9tais bien pourtant, j\u2019\u00e9tais sur votre c\u0153ur ! \u00bb<\/p>\n
Le vieux ch\u00eane au c\u0153ur dur, vert g\u00e9ant du rivage,
\nDe son calme escarp\u00e9 souriait de les voir :
\nOn ne peut contempler l\u2019amour sans s\u2019\u00e9mouvoir,
\nEt tout c\u00e9libataire a r\u00eav\u00e9 d\u2019esclavage
\nDe cette molle \u00e9treinte o\u00f9 tremblaient les roseaux,
\nBattus des m\u00eames vents, lav\u00e9s des m\u00eames eaux.
\nSouvent d\u2019un rossignol la nocturne pri\u00e8re
\nDescendait se mouiller dans leurs frissons charmans ;
\nSouvent, quelque \u00e2me veuve y pleura la derni\u00e8re,
\nAvant de s\u2019envoler o\u00f9 vont les vrais amans.<\/p>\n
H\u00e9las ! il est des traits d\u2019innocence na\u00efve
\nQui font pleurer le c\u0153ur, et je crois que c\u2019est Dieu,
\nDont la main les r\u00e9pand comme une source vive,
\nPour nous dire, aimez-moi ! je le lis en tout lieu !<\/p>\n
Un homme passe : adieu l\u2019union solitaire,
\nAdieu la pauvre amour, doux ciment de la terre !
\nL\u2019homme passe et dans l\u2019air veut souffler une voix ;
\nL\u2019homme est triste ; un roseau va g\u00e9mir sous ses doigts.<\/p>\n
Leurs n\u0153uds entrelac\u00e9s dans l\u2019eau se d\u00e9chir\u00e8rent :
\nDu roseau qui s\u2019en va les racines pleur\u00e8rent.
\nEnhardi de frayeur, l\u2019autre voulut courir ;
\nIl tomba : tomber seul, c\u2019est tomber pour mourir !<\/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":[535],"poems-book":[541],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[208],"class_list":["post-11606","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-535","poems-book-pauvres-fleurs","poete-marceline-desbordes-valmore"],"yoast_head":"\n