La demoiselle en bandeaux noirs,
\nQui brode \u00e0 l\u2019aube et brode au soir,
\nToujours \u00e0 la m\u00eame fen\u00eatre,
\nEst assise derri\u00e8re un \u00e9cran vert
\nEt regarde la rue et le temps gris d\u2019hiver,
\nDe son fauteuil bourr\u00e9 de laine et de bien-\u00eatre.<\/p>\n
Deux b\u00e9guines ont salu\u00e9 l\u2019apothicaire,
\nTr\u00e8s bas, puis ont quitt\u00e9 son seuil \u00e0 reculons ;
\nLe sacristain s\u2019en est all\u00e9 chez le vicaire ;
\nLe cantonnier a balay\u00e9, \u00e0 gestes longs,
\nL\u2019\u00e9gout bond\u00e9 de crasse et de fange velue.
\nEt maintenant, voici,
\n\u00c0 l\u2019heure de midi,
\nLe jovial bourgmestre
\nQui vient, s\u2019arr\u00eate, et longuement salue
\nLa demoiselle \u00e0 sa fen\u00eatre.<\/p>\n
Avec ses mains de pluie et de brouillards,
\nDepuis des jours et puis des jours, D\u00e9cembre
\nMouille les murs, les toits et les hangars ;
\nHeureusement que dans sa chambre,
\nLa demoiselle en bandeaux noirs
\nPeut surveiller jusques au soir
\nUn feu joyeux, o\u00f9 s\u2019\u00e9clairent et bougent,
\nFlammes ! vos clairs papillons rouges.<\/p>\n
Elle aime vivre et s\u2019isoler ainsi,
\nDans la ti\u00e9deur et dans l\u2019ennui ;
\nTandis que son grand chat, ronronnant d\u2019aise
\nAupr\u00e8s d\u2019elle, sur une chaise,
\nLa regarde qui lentement marie,
\nAvec ses maigres mains,
\nUne fleur jaune au liseron carmin
\nDe sa tapisserie.
\nLa demoiselle
\nNourrit en elle
\nL\u2019amour d\u2019une amour infid\u00e8le
\nSilencieusement.
\nSeul, le cur\u00e9, qui la confesse,
\nConna\u00eet sa faute et sa faiblesse
\nEt quel bourreau fut son amant !
\nIls n\u2019en parlent jamais, bien qu\u2019ils y pensent
\nAvec tristesse ou violence,
\nQuand le pr\u00eatre, les dimanches, s\u2019en vient
\nParler de tout, parler de rien,
\nJusqu\u2019au moment o\u00f9 dans l\u2019ombre et la brume,
\nLe premier r\u00e9verb\u00e8re, au bord du quai, s\u2019allume.<\/p>\n
La demoiselle en noir s\u2019est lentement fl\u00e9trie,
\n\u00c0 recompter, dans son \u00e2me, les jours
\nQui lui furent douceur et menterie,
\nEt qu\u2019elle aime et d\u00e9teste toujours.
\nElle a beau se blottir dans son coin ti\u00e8de,
\nL\u2019ombre de ses regrets et de son deuil obs\u00e8de
\nM\u00eame l\u2019heure o\u00f9 le soleil glisse sur son front las.
\nTel qui passe par la ville peut croire
\nQu\u2019elle guette, du haut d\u2019un morne observatoire,
\nDepuis des ans, quelqu\u2019un qui ne vient pas.
\nEt quand la demoiselle aura compt\u00e9 ses peines,
\nCombien de fois, au long des ans et des semaines ;
\nEt que son chat malade et importun,
\nUn soir, aura ferm\u00e9 ses yeux d\u00e9funts,
\nCertes, implorera-t-elle le sort,
\nPour qu\u2019il l\u2019\u00e9tende, \u00e0 son tour, dans la mort ;
\nAlors,
\nPour la premi\u00e8re fois, le jovial bourgmestre,
\n\u00c0 l\u2019heure de midi, passant sur le trottoir,
\nY passera, sans saluer \u00e0 sa fen\u00eatre,
\nLa demoiselle en bandeaux noirs.<\/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":[561],"poems-book":[695],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-15334","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-561","poems-book-les-villes-a-pignons","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n