Au long de promenoirs qui s\u2019ouvrent sur la nuit
\n\u2014 Balcons de fleurs, rampes de flammes \u2014
\nDes femmes en deuil de leur \u00e2me
\nEntrecroisent leurs pas sans bruit.<\/p>\n
Au dehors,
\nUne atmosph\u00e8re \u00e9clatante et chimique
\n\u00c9tend ses effluves sur l\u2019or
\nMyriadaire d\u2019un d\u00e9cor panoramique.<\/p>\n
Des clous de gaz pointent des diamants
\nAutour de coupoles illumin\u00e9es ;
\nDes colonnes passionn\u00e9es
\nTordent de la douleur au firmament.
\nSur les places, des buissons de flambeaux
\nVersent du soufre ou du mercure ;
\nTel coin de monument qui se mire dans l\u2019eau
\nSemble un torse qui bouge en une armure.<\/p>\n
La ville est colossale et luit comme une mer,
\nLointainement, de vagues \u00e9lectriques,
\nEt ses mille chemins de bars et de boutiques
\nAboutissent, soudain, aux promenoirs d\u2019\u00e9clair,
\nO\u00f9 ces femmes \u2014 opale et nacre,
\nSatin nocturne et cheveux roux \u2014
\nAvec en main des fleurs de macre,
\n\u00c0 longs pas clairs, foulent des tapis mous.<\/p>\n
Ce sont de tr\u00e8s lentes marcheuses solennelles
\nQui se croisent, sous les minuits inqui\u00e9tants,
\nEt se savent \u2014 depuis quels temps ? \u2014
\nDouloureuses et mutuelles.<\/p>\n
Un soudain reflet d\u2019incendie
\n\u00c9claire, au m\u00eame instant, deux mains
\nQui se serrent, deux mains mates, deux mains
\nO\u00f9 le crime sur des bagnes radie.<\/p>\n
Sous les cr\u00eapes d\u2019un tr\u00e8s grand deuil,
\nDes yeux obstin\u00e9s et hagards,
\nDans un m\u00eame destin ont riv\u00e9 leurs regards,
\nComme des clous dans un cercueil.<\/p>\n
Telle bouche vers telle autre s\u2019en est all\u00e9e,
\nComme deux fleurs se rencontrent sur l\u2019eau,
\nTel front semble un bandeau
\nSur une pens\u00e9e aveugl\u00e9e.<\/p>\n
Telle attitude est pareille toujours ;
\nDans tels yeux nus rien ne tressaille,
\nQuoique le c\u0153ur, o\u00f9 le vice travaille,
\nBatte \u00e2prement ses tocsins sourds.<\/p>\n
J\u2019en sais dont les robes fun\u00e8bres
\nVoilent de p\u00e2les souliers d\u2019or
\nEt dont un serpent d\u2019argent mord
\nLes longues tresses de t\u00e9n\u00e8bres.<\/p>\n
Des houx rouges de leur tourment
\nElles ont fait des diad\u00e8mes ;
\nJ\u2019en vois : des veuves d\u2019elles-m\u00eames
\nQui se pleurent, comme un amant.<\/p>\n
Quand leurs r\u00eaves, la nuit, s\u2019esseulent
\nEt qu\u2019elles tiennent dans la main
\nUne \u00e2me et un bonheur humain,
\nElles savent ce qu\u2019elles veulent.<\/p>\n
Si leur peine devait finir un jour,
\nElles en seraient plus tristes peut-\u00eatre,
\nQu\u2019elles ne sont inconsolables d\u2019\u00eatre
\nCelles du souterrain amour.<\/p>\n
Au long de promenoirs qui dominent la nuit,
\nDe lentes femmes,
\nEn deuil immense de leur \u00e2me,
\nEntrecroisent leurs pas sans bruit.<\/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":[201],"poems-book":[684],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-14949","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-201","poems-book-les-villes-tentaculaires","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n