Levons-nous, le jour bleu colle son front aux vitres,
\nLa note du coucou r\u00e9veille le printemps,
\nLes rameaux folichons ont des gestes de pitres,
\nLes cloches de l\u2019aurore agitent leurs battants.
\nLa nuit laisse en fuyant sa pantoufle lunaire
\nTra\u00eener dans l\u2019air mouill\u00e9 plein de sommeil encor
\nEt derri\u00e8re les monts cachant sa face claire
\nLe soleil ind\u00e9cis darde trois fl\u00e8ches d\u2019or.
\nIl monte. Notre ferme en est tout \u00e9blouie,
\nLes volets sont plus verts et le toit plus vermeil,
\nLa cr\u00e8te des sapins dans la brume enfouie
\nS\u2019avive de clart\u00e9. Voil\u00e0 le plein soleil
\nAvec son blanc collier de franges barbel\u00e9es,
\nAvec ses poudroiements de cristal dans les pr\u00e9s,
\nAvec ses flots nacr\u00e9s, ses cascades br\u00fbl\u00e9es,
\nSes fl\u00fbtes, ses oiseaux et ses chemins pourpr\u00e9s.
\nL\u2019abeille t\u00f4t lev\u00e9e attendant sa venue,
\nEssayait d\u2019animer les boutons engourdis,
\nD\u00e9rangeait l\u2019ordre neuf de la rose ing\u00e9nue,
\nPressait de toutes parts les lilas interdits.
\nD\u00e8s qu\u2019elle vit au ciel fuser la bonne gerbe,
\nSon gorgerin blondit, son aile miroita,
\nEt, tandis que les fleurs se d\u00e9coupaient dans l\u2019herbe,
\nSur un lis qui s\u2019ouvrait son ivresse pointa.
\nQuel massacre badin de vierges cachet\u00e9es !
\nLa nonnain-violette en conserve un frisson,
\nLes corbeilles d\u2019argent aux blancheurs d\u00e9pit\u00e9es
\nS\u2019inqui\u00e8tent du vent rural et sans fa\u00e7on.
\nSur l\u2019\u00e9glantine fra\u00eeche aux saveurs paysannes
\nVoici que les frelons \u00e9thiopiens vont choir,
\nLes bambous en rumeurs entre-choquent leurs cannes,
\nSur un brin d\u2019amandier sifflote un merle noir.
\nLevons-nous. Notre chien lappe son \u00e9cuelle,
\nLes chevaux affam\u00e9s piaffent apr\u00e8s le foin,
\nOn entend barboter un refrain de vaisselle
\nEt des appels de coqs s\u2019\u00e9gosiller au loin.
\nD\u00e9je\u00fbnons sur le seuil de tartines miell\u00e9es,
\nDans nos verres en feu le soleil boit sa part,
\nLes arbres font danser leurs feuilles d\u00e9roul\u00e9es
\nEt teignent leurs bourgeons d\u2019un petit point de fard.
\nC\u2019est l\u2019heure pu\u00e9rile o\u00f9 la margelle est rose,
\nO\u00f9 la jeune campagne \u00e9close au jour nouveau
\nDans ses terrains b\u00each\u00e9s brille comme une alose,
\nO\u00f9 l\u2019araign\u00e9e \u00e9tend son lumineux r\u00e9seau.
\nC\u2019est l\u2019heure o\u00f9 les lapins se grisent de ros\u00e9e,
\nO\u00f9 l\u2019enfant matinal aux gestes potel\u00e9s,
\nAgitant le soleil de sa t\u00eate fris\u00e9e,
\nRit tenant \u00e0 deux mains un pesant bol de lait.
\nLa montagne se v\u00eat de l\u00e9g\u00e8res bu\u00e9es
\nEt semble perdre un peu de son aust\u00e9rit\u00e9,
\nLes cypr\u00e8s accusant leurs gr\u00e2ces fusel\u00e9es
\nDressent des cierges verts sur l\u2019autel de l\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9.
\n\u00d4 rajeunissement du r\u00e9veil, \u00f4 lumi\u00e8re
\nQui laves les noirceurs, les fanges, les chagrins,
\nQui donnes des splendeurs au bourbier de l\u2019orni\u00e8re
\nEt mets une ombre d\u2019or sur nos charniers humains.<\/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":[561],"poems-book":[562],"poemes-theme":[149,331],"poete":[565],"class_list":["post-12201","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-561","poems-book-tandis-que-la-terre-tourne","poemes-theme-nature","poemes-theme-printemps","poete-cecile-sauvage"],"yoast_head":"\n