Dans le pays de Bade, o\u00f9 les soirs sont si lourds,
\nO\u00f9 les noires for\u00eats font glisser vers la ville,
\nComme un acide fleuve, invisible et tranquille,
\nL\u2019am\u00e8re exhalaison du v\u00e9g\u00e9tal amour,<\/p>\n
Que de fois j\u2019ai r\u00eav\u00e9 sur la terrasse, inerte,
\n\u00c9coutant les volets s\u2019ouvrir sur la fra\u00eecheur,
\nDans ces secrets instants o\u00f9 les fleurs se concertent
\nPour donner \u00e0 la nuit sa surprenante odeur\u2026<\/p>\n
Des voitures passaient, cal\u00e8ches romantiques,
\nO\u00f9 l\u2019on voyait deux fronts s\u2019unir pour contempler
\nLe coup de d\u00e9s divin des astres, assembl\u00e9s
\nDans l\u2019espace alangui, distrait et fatidique.<\/p>\n
\u00d4 Destin suspendu, que vous m\u2019\u00eates suspect !
\n\u2014 Sous les rameaux courb\u00e9s des tilleuls centenaires
\nUn pu\u00e9ril torrent roulait son clair tonnerre ;
\nDes orchestres jouaient dans les bosquets \u00e9pais,
\nM\u00ealant au frais parfum dilat\u00e9 de la terre,
\nCet \u00e9l\u00e9ment des sons, dont la force \u00e9ph\u00e9m\u00e8re
\nDistend \u00e0 l\u2019infini la d\u00e9tresse ou la paix\u2026<\/p>\n
\u2014 \u00d4 pays de la valse et des larmes sans peines,
\nPays o\u00f9 la musique est un vin plus hardi,
\nQui, sans bl\u00e2me et sans heurts, furtivement am\u00e8ne
\nLes c\u0153urs penchants et las vers le s\u00fbr paradis
\nDes regards emm\u00eal\u00e9s et des chaleurs humaines,<\/p>\n
Combien vous m\u2019avez fait souffrir, lorsque, r\u00eavant
\nSeule, sur les jardins o\u00f9 les parfums insistent,
\nJ\u2019\u00e9coutais haleter le d\u00e9sarroi du vent,
\nTandis qu\u2019au noir beffroi, l\u2019horloge, noble et triste,
\nTransmettait de sa voix lugubre de trappiste
\nLe mena\u00e7ant appel des morts vers les vivants !<\/p>\n
Oui, je songe \u00e0 ces soirs d\u2019un mois de mai trop ti\u00e8de,
\nO\u00f9 tous les rossignols se liguaient contre moi,
\nO\u00f9 la lente asphyxie amoureuse des bois
\nMe d\u00e9solait d\u2019espoir sans me venir en aide ;<\/p>\n
Les sureaux soupiraient leurs chancelants parfums ;
\nLa ville aux toits baiss\u00e9s, comme une jeune abbesse,
\nParaissait \u00e9carter ses vantaux importuns,
\nPour savourer l\u2019espace et pleurer de tendresse !<\/p>\n
Tout souffrait, languissait, d\u00e9sirait, sans moyen,
\nLes volupt\u00e9s de l\u2019\u00e2me et la joie inconnue.
\n\u2014 Quand serez-vous form\u00e9, ineffable lien
\nQui saurez rattacher les d\u00e9sirs \u00e0 la nue ?<\/p>\n
Je pleurais lentement, pour je ne sais quel deuil
\nQui, dans les nuits d\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9, secr\u00e8tement m\u2019oppresse ;
\nEt je sentais couler, sur mes mains en d\u00e9tresse,
\nDu haut d\u2019un noir sapin qui se balance au seuil
\nDu romanesque h\u00f4tel que la lune caresse,
\nDe mols bourgeons, hach\u00e9s par des dents d\u2019\u00e9cureuil\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":[274],"poems-book":[594],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[611],"class_list":["post-13109","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-274","poems-book-les-vivants-et-les-morts","poete-anna-de-noailles"],"yoast_head":"\n