Comme un troupeau de b\u0153ufs aveugles,
\nAvec effarement, l\u00e0-bas, au fond des soirs,
\nL\u2019ouragan beugle.<\/p>\n
Et tout \u00e0 coup, par au-dessus des pignons noirs,
\nQue dresse, autour de lui, l\u2019\u00e9glise, au cr\u00e9puscule,
\nRay\u00e9 d\u2019\u00e9clairs, le clocher br\u00fble.<\/p>\n
Le vieux sonneur, la t\u00eate folle,
\nLa bouche ouverte et sans parole,
\nAccourt ;
\nEt le tocsin qu\u2019il frappe, \u00e0 battants lourds,
\nRythme en temp\u00eate
\nLe d\u00e9sespoir qui bat sa t\u00eate.<\/p>\n
La tour,
\nAvec, \u00e0 son fa\u00eete, la croix brandie,
\n\u00c9pand, vers l\u2019horizon hallucin\u00e9,
\nLes crins rouges de l\u2019incendie.
\nLe bourg nocturne en est illumin\u00e9.
\nLes visages des foules apparues
\nPeuplent de peur et de clameurs les rues
\nEt, sur les murs soudain \u00e9blouissants,
\nLes carreaux noirs boivent du sang.<\/p>\n
Le vieux sonneur, vers la campagne immense,
\nJette, \u00e0 pleins glas, sa crainte et sa d\u00e9mence.<\/p>\n
La tour,
\nElle grandit, sur l\u2019horizon qui bouge ;
\nElle est volante en lueurs rouges,
\nPar au-dessus des lacs et des marais ;
\nSes ardoises, comme des ailes
\nDe paillettes et d\u2019\u00e9tincelles,
\nFuient, dans la nuit, vers les for\u00eats ;
\nAu passage des feux, les chaumi\u00e8res s\u2019exhument
\nDe l\u2019ombre et, tout \u00e0 coup, s\u2019allument
\nEt, dans l\u2019effondrement du fa\u00eete entier, la croix
\nChoit au brasier, qui tord et broie
\nSes bras chr\u00e9tiens, comme une proie.<\/p>\n
Le vieux sonneur sonne si fort qu\u2019il peut
\nComme si les flammes br\u00fblaient son Dieu.<\/p>\n
La tour,
\nLe feu s\u2019y creuse en entonnoir,
\nPar au dedans des murs de pierre,
\nGagnant l\u2019\u00e9tage et le voussoir,
\nO\u00f9 saute et rebondit la cloche en sa col\u00e8re.
\nLes corneilles et les hiboux
\nPassent, avec de longs cris fous,
\nCognant leur t\u00eate aux fen\u00eatres ferm\u00e9es,
\nBr\u00fblant leur vol, dans les fum\u00e9es,
\nHagards d\u2019effroi, lass\u00e9s d\u2019efforts,
\nEt, tout \u00e0 coup, parmi les houles de la foule,
\nS\u2019abattant morts.<\/p>\n
Le vieux sonneur voit s\u2019avancer, vers ses cloches brandies,
\nLes mains en or qui bout de l\u2019incendie.<\/p>\n
La tour,
\nOn la dirait tout en rouges buissons
\nDont les branches de flamme
\nSe darderaient, par \u00e0 travers les abat-sons ;
\nLe feu sauvage et convulsif entame,
\nAvec des courbes v\u00e9g\u00e9tales,
\nLes madriers et les poulies
\nEt les poutres monumentales,
\nD\u2019o\u00f9 les cloches sonnent et clament leur folie.<\/p>\n
Le vieux sonneur, \u00e0 bout de crainte et d\u2019agonie,
\nSonne sa mort, dans ses cloches finies.<\/p>\n
La tour,
\nUn d\u00e9cisif fracas,
\nGris de poussi\u00e8re et de pl\u00e2tras,
\nLa casse en deux, de haut en bas.
\nComme un grand cri tu\u00e9, cesse la rage,
\nSoudainement, du glas.
\nLe vieux clocher
\nTout \u00e0 coup noir semble pencher ;
\nEt l\u2019on entend, \u00e9tage par \u00e9tage,
\nAvec des heurts dans leur descente,
\nLes cloches bondissantes,
\nJusqu\u2019\u00e0 terre, plonger.<\/p>\n
Le vieux sonneur n\u2019a pas boug\u00e9.<\/p>\n
Et la cloche qui d\u00e9fon\u00e7a le terrain mou
\nFut son cercueil et fit son trou.<\/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":[688],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-15213","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-201","poems-book-les-villages-illusoires","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n