La sagesse s\u2019assied \u00e0 mi-c\u00f4te des monts ;
\nLes flots p\u00e2les des rivi\u00e8res intercal\u00e9es,
\nParmi les rocs de la vall\u00e9e,
\nInqui\u00e8tent son long regard sentencieux,
\nPar les mille tours
\nEt les d\u00e9tours
\nQu\u2019ils font ;
\nMais les calmes et r\u00e9guliers villages
\nDont elle voit passer les attelages,
\nEn bon ordre, vers leurs travaux,
\nR\u00e9installent la paix et ses fixes flambeaux,
\nDans le palais sym\u00e9trique de son cerveau.<\/p>\n
Le paysage est calme et ses aspects ne bougent.
\n\u00c0 ceux qui l\u2019observent d\u2019en bas
\nLa sagesse, d\u2019un geste lent, d\u00e9signe
\nLes chemins bien trac\u00e9s et les routes insignes.
\nD\u2019aucuns vers son appel acc\u00e9l\u00e8rent leur pas ;
\nMais ceux dont les vouloirs sont rouges
\nEt qui veulent, o\u00f9 qu\u2019ils montent, monter encor,
\nCeux dont les fronts sont faits pour les vertiges d\u2019or
\nN\u2019\u00e9coutent rien, sinon leur \u00e2me, au fond d\u2019eux-m\u00eames.<\/p>\n
La joie est le tremplin de leurs \u00e9lans supr\u00eames,
\nLa joie \u00e2pre d\u2019\u00eatre en p\u00e9ril, d\u2019\u00eatre en danger,
\nEt de sentir leur c\u0153ur bondissant et l\u00e9ger
\nAu moindre appel des clairons noirs de la temp\u00eate.
\nLa vie est un combat qu\u2019ils ont chang\u00e9 en f\u00eate ;
\nO\u00f9 l\u2019on a peur d\u2019aller en troupe \u2014 eux s\u2019en vont seuls ;
\nNeige aveuglante et toi, profond linceul,
\nSur le visage aigu de l\u2019altitude blanche ;
\nR\u00e2pes du vent, \u00e9taux du froid
\nMordant les doigts crisp\u00e9s, raclant les torses droits ;
\nEt vous les bonds, de roc en roc, des avalanches,
\nVous n\u2019arr\u00eatez jamais
\nLeurs pas t\u00eatus, leurs pas rythm\u00e9s vers les sommets.<\/p>\n
Certes, elle \u00e9tait douce au fond de leur vall\u00e9e,
\nL\u2019existence, parmi les gestes et les voix,
\nDans la chambre de joncs et de soleil dall\u00e9e,
\nEntre les brocs de gr\u00e8s et les vieux bancs de bois.
\nElle \u00e9tait simple, elle \u00e9tait franche,
\nAvec ses buissons bruns de labeur ou de peine
\nAu long des jours de la semaine ;
\nAvec ses floraisons rouges et blanches,
\nChaque dimanche,
\nQuand les cloches, dans les matins, sonnaient ;
\nQuand les filles, le soir, \u00e9taient plus belles
\nEt que leurs corps, sous les baisers, rebelles,
\nTout en se d\u00e9fendant, soudain s\u2019abandonnaient.<\/p>\n
Mais ceux, ceux qui gagnent de loin en loin les cimes,
\nPar un pauvre sentier pendu sur un ab\u00eeme,
\nIvres de joie et d\u2019avenir, n\u2019\u00e9coutent pas
\nLes souvenirs chanter dans les maisons d\u2019en bas.
\nLeur geste solitaire est incompris, qu\u2019importe !
\nPlus tard, le monde entier passera par la porte
\nQu\u2019ils ont ouverte, au bord des cieux, sur l\u2019infini.
\nAucun ne se demande o\u00f9 son r\u00eave finit,
\nEt seuls, l\u00e0 haut, ils \u00e9rigent plus haut encor
\nQue les sommets dont ils foulent la neige et l\u2019or,
\nToujours, vers plus d\u2019espace et de clart\u00e9,
\nLes blocs de leur ardeur et de leur volont\u00e9.<\/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":[710],"poems-book":[699],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-15609","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-710","poems-book-la-multiple-splendeur","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n