Il est n\u00e9, j\u2019ai perdu mon jeune bien-aim\u00e9,
\nJe le tenais si bien dans mon \u00e2me enferm\u00e9,
\nIl habitait mon sein, il buvait mes tendresses,
\nJe le laissais jouer et tirailler mes tresses.
\n\u00c0 qui vais-je parler dans mon c\u0153ur \u00e0 pr\u00e9sent ?
\nIl \u00e9coutait mes pleurs tomber en s\u2019\u00e9crasant,
\nIl \u00e9tait le printemps qui voit notre d\u00e9lire
\nGambader sur son herbe et qui ne peut en rire.
\nIl me donnait la main pour sauter les ruisseaux,
\nNous avions des bonheurs et des peines d\u2019oiseaux ;
\nSon sommeil s\u2019\u00e9tendait comme un aveu candide.
\nMon \u0153il grave flottait sur son \u00e2me limpide,
\nJe couvais dans son c\u0153ur les \u0153ufs de la bont\u00e9,
\nJ\u2019effeuillais sur son front des roses de clart\u00e9.
\nLe silence des fleurs reposait sur sa bouche,
\nSon doux flanc se gonflait de mon orgueil farouche ;
\nSon souffle \u00e9tait le mien, il voyait par mes yeux,
\nSon petit cr\u00e2ne avait la courbure des cieux.
\nJe le tenais des dieux que j\u2019ai con\u00e7us moi-m\u00eame ;
\nC\u2019\u00e9tait le jardin clos o\u00f9 la v\u00e9rit\u00e9 s\u00e8me,
\nC\u2019\u00e9tait le petit livre o\u00f9 des contes na\u00effs
\nMe reposaient de l\u2019ombre et des rayons pensifs.
\nSes doigts tendres savaient caresser ma mis\u00e8re.
\nDevant ce front de lait, devant cette \u00e2me claire
\nMon c\u0153ur n\u2019\u00e9prouvait point de honte d\u2019\u00eatre nu,
\nMon \u00eatre \u00e9tait l\u2019instinct dans son geste ing\u00e9nu,
\nJ\u2019\u00e9tais bonne d\u2019avril nouveau comme la terre,
\nJe donnais mes ruisseaux, mes feuilles, ma lumi\u00e8re ;
\nLa mort cachait ses os sous les duvets herbeux,
\nNous \u00e9tions le myst\u00e8re et la vie \u00e0 nous deux.
\nNotre \u00e2me, au ras du sol mollement \u00e9tendue,
\n\u00c9tait un bl\u00e9 qui berce une vague pelue.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Maintenant il est n\u00e9. Je suis seule, je sens
\nS\u2019\u00e9pouvanter en moi le vide de mon sang ;
\nMon flair int\u00e9rieur fur\u00e8te dans son ombre
\nAvec le grognement des femelles. Je sombre
\nD\u2019un bonheur plus puissant que l\u2019appel d\u2019un printemps
\nQui ferait refleurir tous les mondes des temps.
\nAh ! que je suis petite et l\u2019\u00e2me retomb\u00e9e,
\nComme lorsque la graine ayant pris sa vol\u00e9e
\nLa capsule rejoint ses tissus aplanis.
\n\u00d4 c\u0153ur abandonn\u00e9 dans le vent, pauvre nid !<\/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":[563],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[565],"class_list":["post-12244","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-561","poems-book-lame-en-bourgeon","poete-cecile-sauvage"],"yoast_head":"\n