Sous ce terrain perdu que les folles avoines
\nEt les chiendents et les sainfoins couvrent de vert,
\nOn enterrait \u2014 voici quatre si\u00e8cles \u2014 des moines
\nLes mains jointes, le front du capuchon couvert,
\nLe corps envelopp\u00e9 de la pudeur des laines.
\nIls s\u2019endormaient dans un calme sacerdotal
\nEt rien ne leur venait ni des mers, ni des plaines,
\nQui p\u00fbt troubler leur long sommeil horizontal.
\nAlors comme aujourd\u2019hui, les larges moissons m\u00fbres
\nCharriaient leur mar\u00e9e autour des loins d\u2019argent,
\nO\u00f9 luisaient des clochers ainsi que des armures.
\nL\u2019enclos fun\u00e8bre avait le m\u00eame aspect changeant,
\nLa terre ocreuse \u00e9tait de micas chatoy\u00e9e,
\nLa m\u00eame croix d\u2019airain, que midi faisait d\u2019or,
\nTenait sur ses grands bras sa douleur d\u00e9ploy\u00e9e
\nEt semblait un oiseau qui prend un tel essor
\nQu\u2019il atteindra le ciel, d\u2019un seul coup d\u2019aile immense.<\/p>\n
Depuis, les morts nouveaux ont \u00e9cras\u00e9 les vieux
\nEt toujours cet enclos que le deuil ensemence
\nS\u2019\u00e9tend, vierge et muet, vide et silencieux,
\nM\u00ealant et rem\u00ealant les cendres aux poussi\u00e8res,
\nLes d\u00e9funts aux d\u00e9funts, les d\u00e9bris aux d\u00e9bris,
\nSous le m\u00eame soleil et les m\u00eames pri\u00e8res ;
\nToujours les bl\u00e9s houleux entourent son mur gris.
\nToujours sous le manteau de ses folles avoines,
\nDe ses chiendents soyeux et de son gazon vert,
\nIl tient cach\u00e9 les corps des abb\u00e9s et des moines,
\nLes mains jointes, le front du capuchon couvert.
\nEt cette antiquit\u00e9 de deuil r\u00e9glementaire,
\nCes m\u00eames morts toujours \u00e0 d\u2019autres succ\u00e9dant,
\nQui rendirent jadis cet enclos l\u00e9gendaire,
\nOnt maintenu, dans notre \u00e2ge de doute ardent,
\nAutour du deuil chr\u00e9tien de ces tr\u00e9pas superbes,
\nMyst\u00e9rieusement couch\u00e9s dans ce coin noir,
\nLes m\u00eames bruits pieux de vent parmi les herbes
\nEt d\u2019oiseaux clairs rythmant leurs chansons dans le soir.
\nPourtant, par les beaux mois d\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 glac\u00e9s de lune,
\nSous un ciel reluisant d\u2019or et d\u2019argent poli,
\nCe lieu r\u00e9pand encor sa hantise importune,
\nEt lorsque les brouillards montent du sol p\u00e2li
\nEt s\u2019\u00e9tendent, sur les tombes, en blanc suaire,
\nOn voit, l\u00e0-bas, de grands moines se rassembler,
\nSe saluer le front par terre et s\u2019en aller
\nPar la vague terreur de la nuit mortuaire.<\/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":[271],"poems-book":[680],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-14853","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-271","poems-book-les-moines","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n