Et l\u00e0, ce moine noir, que v\u00eat un froc de deuil,
\nConstruit, dans sa pens\u00e9e, un monument d\u2019orgueil.<\/p>\n
Il le b\u00e2tit, tout seul, de ses mains taciturnes,
\nDurant la veille ardente et les fi\u00e8vres nocturnes.<\/p>\n
Il le dresse, d\u2019un jet, sur les Cr\u00e9dos b\u00e9ants,
\nComme un phare de pierre au bord des oc\u00e9ans,<\/p>\n
Il y scelle sa fougue et son ardeur mystique,
\nEt sa fausse science et son doute asc\u00e9tique,<\/p>\n
Il y jette sa force et sa raison de fer,
\nEt le feu de son \u00e2me et le cri de sa chair,<\/p>\n
Et l\u2019\u0153uvre est l\u00e0, debout, comme une tour vivante,
\nDardant toujours plus haut sa tranquille \u00e9pouvante,<\/p>\n
Empruntant sa grandeur \u00e0 son isolement,
\nSous le d\u00e9fi serein et clair du firmament,<\/p>\n
Cependant qu\u2019au sommet des rigides spirales
\nLuisent sinistrement, comme des joyaux p\u00e2les,<\/p>\n
Comme de froids regards, toisant Dieu dans les cieux,
\nLes blasph\u00e8mes du grand moine silencieux.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Aussi vit-il, tel qu\u2019un suspect parmi ses fr\u00e8res,
\nTombeau d\u00e9sert, vid\u00e9 de vases cin\u00e9raires,<\/p>\n
Damn\u00e9 d\u2019ombre et de soir, que Satan ronge et mord,
\nL\u00e9preux moral, chauffant contre sa peau la mort,<\/p>\n
Le c\u0153ur tortionn\u00e9, durant des nuits enti\u00e8res,
\nLa bouche morte aux chants sacr\u00e9s, morte aux pri\u00e8res,<\/p>\n
Le cerveau fatigu\u00e9 d\u2019\u00e9normes tensions,
\nLes yeux br\u00fbl\u00e9s au feu rouge des visions,<\/p>\n
Le courage h\u00e9sitant, malgr\u00e9 les clairvoyances,
\n\u00c0 rompre effrayamment le plain-chant des croyances,<\/p>\n
Qui par le monde entier s\u2019en vont prenant l\u2019essor
\nEt dont Rome, l\u00e0-bas, est le colombier d\u2019or,<\/p>\n
Jusqu\u2019au jour o\u00f9, pouss\u00e9 par sa haine trop forte,
\nIl se poss\u00e8de enfin et clame sa foi morte<\/p>\n
Et se carre massif, sous l\u2019azur d\u00e9ploy\u00e9,
\nAvec son large front vermeil de foudroy\u00e9.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Alors il sera grand de la grandeur humaine,
\nSon orgueil flamboiera sous la foudre romaine,<\/p>\n
Son nom sera cri\u00e9 dans la rage et l\u2019amour,
\nSon ombre, projet\u00e9e, obscurcira le jour,<\/p>\n
Les pr\u00eaches, les \u00e9crits, les di\u00e8tes, les \u00e9coles,
\nLes sectes germeront autour de ses paroles,<\/p>\n
Le monde entier, promis par les papes aux rois,
\nSur le vieux sol chr\u00e9tien verra trembler la croix,<\/p>\n
Les disputes, les cris, les querelles, les haines,
\nLes passions et les fureurs, rompant leurs cha\u00eenes,<\/p>\n
Ainsi qu\u2019un troupeau roux de grands fauves l\u00e2ch\u00e9s,
\nBroieront, entre leurs dents, les dogmes dess\u00e9ch\u00e9s,<\/p>\n
Un vent venu des loins antiques de la terre
\n\u00c9teindra les flambeaux autour du sanctuaire,<\/p>\n
Et la nuit l\u2019emplira morne, comme un cercueil,
\nDepuis l\u2019autel d\u00e9sert jusqu\u2019aux marches du seuil,<\/p>\n
Tandis qu\u2019\u00e0 l\u2019horizon luiront des incendies,
\nDes glaives furieux et des crosses brandies.<\/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":[200],"poems-book":[680],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-14829","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-200","poems-book-les-moines","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n