Quelle m\u00e8re un moment ne fut ambitieuse ?
\nQuelle m\u00e8re, en plongeant son ame curieuse
\nDans les jours o\u00f9 son fils ira chercher ses droits,
\nN\u2019a dit : Voil\u00e0 mon fils ! Que sont les fils des rois ?<\/p>\n
\u00ab Vents ! portez dans les cieux la voix de ma pri\u00e8re :
\nDieu ! versez le pardon sur l\u2019orgueil \u00e0 genoux :
\nOui, l\u2019orgueil m\u2019a saisie, \u00f4 mon Dieu ! j\u2019\u00e9tais m\u00e8re ;
\nEt la m\u00e8re et l\u2019enfant tendent les bras vers vous !<\/p>\n
\u00ab Enfant, ne pleure pas. Voici des fleurs. Je t\u2019aime.
\nNous trouverons l\u00e0 bas, peut-\u00eatre, un frais ruisseau ;
\nTu dormiras content sous un jeune arbrisseau ;
\nEt peut-\u00eatre avec toi j\u2019y dormirai moi-m\u00eame ! \u00bb<\/p>\n
Ainsi la triste Agar, un enfant par la main,
\nDe son c\u0153ur oppress\u00e9 brise le long silence.
\nL\u2019enfant rit \u00e0 sa m\u00e8re ; et, plein d\u2019ob\u00e9issance,
\nCueille une fleur mourante et poursuit son chemin.
\nCe chemin est br\u00fblant ; le soleil le d\u00e9vore :
\nL\u2019enfant poursuit en vain, de chaleur obs\u00e9d\u00e9,
\nL\u2019arbre vert, l\u2019ombre et l\u2019eau ! Triste, il a demand\u00e9 :
\n\u00ab Ce frais ruisseau, ma m\u00e8re, est-il bien loin encore ? \u00bb<\/p>\n
\u2014 \u00ab L\u00e0 bas ! \u00bb r\u00e9pond Agar. \u2014 \u00ab Oh ! que c\u2019est loin l\u00e0 bas,
\nMa m\u00e8re ! \u00bb \u2014 Elle se tait, d\u00e9tourne son visage ;
\nDu voile qui la couvre elle forme un nuage,
\nComme un linceul mouvant o\u00f9 se tra\u00eenent leurs pas.<\/p>\n
Ses premiers pas, \u00e0 lui, l\u2019\u00e9loignent de son p\u00e8re !
\n\u00d4 Sarah ! de ton fils le sort est plus prosp\u00e8re.
\n\u00d4 Sarah ! Cet enfant p\u00e2le, nu, sans soutien,
\nC\u2019est le fils d\u2019Abraham\u2026 Non, mon Dieu ! c\u2019est le tien !
\nSauve-le ! sauve-nous. Un peu d\u2019air ! un peu d\u2019ombre !
\nDieu ! ta main devant le soleil !
\nLe bruit frais de l\u2019eau vive, un arbre au rideau sombre,
\nUne pierre mouill\u00e9e, un fruit, et du sommeil ! \u00bb<\/p>\n
Et l\u2019enfant tout \u00e0 coup s\u2019arr\u00eate. Elle s\u2019arr\u00eate.
\nDu voile qui l\u2019\u00e9touffe il d\u00e9gage sa t\u00eate ;
\nDe ses cheveux touffus lent \u00e0 se d\u00e9couvrir,
\nIl tremble. Il jette enfin d\u2019une l\u00e8vre alt\u00e9r\u00e9e :
\n\u00ab J\u2019ai soif ! \u00bb \u2014 Et dans le ciel l\u2019esp\u00e9rance est rentr\u00e9e\u2026<\/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":[534],"poems-book":[538],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[208],"class_list":["post-11680","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-534","poems-book-les-pleurs","poete-marceline-desbordes-valmore"],"yoast_head":"\n