Si tu venais, jeune Virgile,
\nQue dirais-tu de mon jardin ?
\nVoici la sauterelle agile
\nQui s\u2019\u00e9lance dans le matin ;
\nVoici le banc rustique o\u00f9 monte
\nLe houblon aux limbes rugueux
\nEt l\u2019hirondelle qui raconte
\nSon voyage au prunier gommeux.
\nEntre deux plantes d\u2019ancolie
\nLe fil-de-la-Vierge est tendu
\nEt dans sa calotte sertie
\nLa fraise enfle un museau dodu.
\nSur l\u2019herbe humide le passage
\nDu soleil \u00e9met des vapeurs
\nQui sont parfums de repassage ;
\nUne eau monte aux l\u00e8vres des fleurs
\nIci des gu\u00eapes chamailleuses
\nD\u00e9p\u00e8cent un ver en tron\u00e7ons,
\nLes f\u00e8ves ont des pucerons,
\nMais dans leurs gousses pelucheuses
\nLe grain qui dort est potel\u00e9.
\nVois, Ronsard, la rose est d\u00e9close,
\nLa p\u00eache a d\u00e9j\u00e0 pommel\u00e9,
\nLe miel poisse, l\u2019ombre se pose
\nEt bougeotte sous l\u2019aub\u00e9pin.
\nLes sureaux ouvrent leurs ombrelles
\nDe guipure et le beau t\u00e9tin
\nDes cerises, prudes pucelles,
\nRougit, brille et tremble de vent.
\nSur la t\u00eate de la pervenche,
\nLa feuille est un petit auvent,
\nUn petit toit d\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 qui penche.
\nVers le fond les fusains fournis
\nDans la nettet\u00e9 de leur bande
\nSemblent arros\u00e9s et vernis
\nPar une averse de Hollande ;
\nLe chat pelu fait le gros dos,
\nEffar\u00e9 d\u2019une branche basse ;
\nDu foin est aux dents du rateau,
\nLe coucou chante, un faucheux passe.<\/p>\n
Chacun a dans son souvenir
\nUn jardin o\u00f9 vont ses tendresses,
\nO\u00f9 les arbres l\u2019ont vu grandir.
\nCelui-l\u00e0, quand j\u2019avais des tresses,
\nA connu mes premiers \u00e9mois ;
\nJ\u2019allais dans le chemin des vignes
\nPleurer sur les jours et sur moi :
\nLes plantes me faisaient des signes,
\nLes b\u00eates savaient mes douleurs.
\nJ\u2019ai grandi, l\u2019all\u00e9e est pareille,
\nMais n\u2019a plus tant de profondeur.
\nQue manque-t-il \u00e0 chaque treille ?
\nLe jardinier disait : Voyez
\nCes chenilles en longue file
\nQui vont tortuant du poirier
\nJusqu\u2019au bassin comme un reptile.
\nQue j\u2019aimais, les beaux mois venus,
\nPasser vos fruits, vos molles verges,
\nAu travers de mes doigts menus,
\nFor\u00eat mignonne des asperges ;
\nCes gouttes de ti\u00e8des rubis
\nVous les portiez comme aux oreilles
\nEt vous \u00e9tiez les tamaris
\nDes agrions et perce-oreilles.
\nDe leurs volcans secs et br\u00fbl\u00e9s
\nLes fourmis coulaient, brunes laves,
\nLes limaces se faufilaient
\nEn laissant l\u2019argent de leurs baves ;
\nL\u2019escargot qui porte son toit
\nComme l\u2019\u00e9l\u00e9phant turrig\u00e8re
\nRentrait sa corne quand mon doigt
\nEn poussait la trompe filaire.
\nNous attrapions un cerf-volant
\nAvec sa ramure de t\u00f4le
\nEt sur son noir un reflet blanc.
\nNotre fleuve \u00e9tait la rigole.
\nH\u00e9las ! que ne puis-je, jardin,
\nAvec le moineau qu\u2019on enterre
\nMe reposer du temps humain
\nUn jour sur toi comme un parterre.<\/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":[],"poete":[565],"class_list":["post-12207","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-561","poems-book-tandis-que-la-terre-tourne","poete-cecile-sauvage"],"yoast_head":"\n