Les chairs, les belles chairs en fleur des gouges mortes,
\nJeunes encore, o\u00f9 vont-elles ? et qui de nous
\nLes verra resplendir ailleurs, rouges et fortes,
\nEt les adorera, toujours \u00e0 deux genoux !
\nSouvent, lorsque Juillet flamboie, on r\u00eave d\u2019elles,
\nDe leurs beaux corps d\u00e9funts, qu\u2019on a connus jadis,
\nEt plus haut que ne va le vol des hirondelles,
\nPr\u00e8s des cieux, on croit voir de lointains paradis
\nEmbras\u00e9s de lumi\u00e8re et tapiss\u00e9s de nues,
\nO\u00f9 l\u2019\u0153il vainqueur, les seins sortis du corset d\u2019or,
\nDes anneaux de rubis cerclant leurs jambes nues,
\nLe front plaqu\u00e9 d\u2019un feu de soleil qui s\u2019endort,
\nLes gouges dans leur gloire ardente se prom\u00e8nent,
\nAh ! celles-l\u00e0, du moins, ont bien fait de mourir
\nAvant que les laideurs et les maux se d\u00e9cha\u00eenent
\nSur leur \u00eatre superbe et trop beau pour souffrir.
\nMais d\u2019autres que voil\u00e0, toutes celles que l\u2019\u00e2ge
\nCourbe, casse, salit, ruine et rabougrit,
\nQui subissent, l\u2019\u00e9chine en deux, le vasselage
\nDu cerveau qui s\u2019\u00e9b\u00eate et du c\u0153ur qui pourrit,
\nQui ne veulent crever, quoique jaunes, fl\u00e9tries,
\nQui s\u2019accrochent au monde et se s\u00e8chent d\u2019aigreur,
\nBien que les temps soient l\u00e0 des volupt\u00e9s taries,
\nSont celles que je hais, celles qui font horreur !
\nAh chair de vieilles, chair veule, r\u00e8che, moisie,
\nMauvaise chair, tout au plus bonne pour les vers,
\nPourquoi ne pas, avant la sinistre \u00e9tisie,
\nPurger de tes humeurs s\u00e9niles les champs verts,
\nDe ta l\u00e8pre l\u2019air frais et de ta jalousie
\nLes beaux soirs, le soleil et les chemins d\u2019amour ?
\nChair puante, pourquoi salir de toi la terre,
\nEt qu\u2019avons-nous besoin de ta hideur ? \u2014 Le jour !
\nVois donc comme il jaillit flamboyant d\u2019un crat\u00e8re
\nD\u2019aube, comme il \u00e9maille en bleu les cieux ardents,
\nComme il rosit au front l\u2019enfance et la jeunesse !
\nPour vous, vieilles, le jour, c\u2019est le masque sans dents,
\nC\u2019est la paupi\u00e8re o\u00f9 du pus congel\u00e9 se presse,
\nFaisant comme une plaie \u00e0 chacun de vos yeux,
\nC\u2019est le menton piqu\u00e9 de poils roux, c\u2019est la teigne
\nQui ronge par endroits le gris de vos cheveux,
\nC\u2019est un cancer, servant \u00e0 vos faces d\u2019enseigne,
\nCe sont vos deux sourcils r\u00e2cl\u00e9s, ce sont vos seins
\nClapotant sur les flancs leur flic-flac de vessie
\nFlasque, ce sont vos bras osseux, ce sont vos reins,
\nVos doigts, vos mains, vos pieds gonfl\u00e9s d\u2019hydropisie,
\nC\u2019est votre corps entier, gluant, l\u00e9preux, perclus,
\nCarcasse r\u00e9pandant une telle asphyxie,
\nQue les chiens de la mort n\u2019en voudront m\u00eame plus !<\/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":[444],"poems-book":[679],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-14819","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-444","poems-book-les-flammandes","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n