Qu\u2019elle \u00e9tait large et belle, assise au bord des mers,
\nLa grand\u2019ville levant cent tours sur ses \u00e9paules,
\nO\u00f9 les hommes de l\u2019\u00e9quateur et des deux p\u00f4les
\nSe rassemblaient et trafiquaient de l\u2019univers.<\/p>\n
Un ma\u00eetre sombre et fort y dressait sa statue ;
\nSur une \u00e9p\u00e9e \u00e9norme il maintenait ses poings ;
\nSes yeux en granit p\u00e2le y semblaient les t\u00e9moins
\nD\u2019une d\u00e9pouille immense \u00e0 ses pieds rabattue.<\/p>\n
De monstrueux vaisseaux au travers de la nuit
\nLa lui cherchaient, l\u00e0-bas, aux limites du monde
\nEt le vent onduleux et la vague errabonde
\nSe ployaient sous son ordre et s\u2019exaltaient pour lui.<\/p>\n
Il regardait les docks, les quais et les terrasses :
\nLes bl\u00e9s venus d\u2019Ukraine et des pays lombards
\nFaisaient des monts et des vallons, sous les hangars,
\nEt le soleil oblique allumait d\u2019or leurs masses.<\/p>\n
La houleuse abondance envahissait le port
\nEt de l\u00e0 s\u2019\u00e9pandait au c\u0153ur de l\u2019Allemagne
\nJusqu\u2019\u00e0 l\u2019\u00e2pre bruy\u00e8re et l\u2019aride montagne
\nEt les mines de l\u2019Ouest et les mares du Nord.<\/p>\n
Soit \u00e0 midi, soit vers le soir, soit \u00e0 l\u2019aurore,
\nSous l\u2019Elbe, au long d\u2019un tunnel sombre et phosphoreux
\nPassaient, marteaux en main, des travailleurs nombreux
\nSe rendant au travail innombrable et sonore.<\/p>\n
La foule \u00e0 longes remous battait les carrefours,
\nLa gare en d\u00e9bordait, la banque en \u00e9tait pleine ;
\nOn entendait au loin des appels de sir\u00e8nes
\nPleurant vers la cit\u00e9 du fond des brouillards lourds.<\/p>\n
Des trains illumin\u00e9s s\u2019engouffraient sous des arches,
\nTout n\u2019y \u00e9tait que fi\u00e8vre, ardeur, vitesse, envol.
\nOn se disait parfois que sur ce coin de sol
\nLe monde entier vers l\u2019avenir ouvrait la marche.<\/p>\n
H\u00e9las, que reste-t-il de son pouvoir jaloux
\nEt de l\u2019ancien travail d\u00e9cha\u00eenant son tonnerre
\nEt des comptoirs jetant jusqu\u2019au bout de la terre,
\nLeur or myriadaire \u00e0 travers les vents fous ?<\/p>\n
Le ma\u00eetre sombre et fort qui s\u2019y dresse en statue
\nSur son \u00e9p\u00e9e \u00e9norme a laiss\u00e9 choir ses poings
\nEt ses yeux ne sont plus que de mornes t\u00e9moins
\nD\u2019une puissance immense \u00e0 ses pieds abattue.<\/p>\n
Et la banque est d\u00e9serte et la gare et le port.
\nPlus rien au long des quais ne s\u2019en va ni ne rentre,
\nEt les rats restent seuls pour habiter les ventres
\nEt les torses vid\u00e9s de ces grands vaisseaux morts.<\/p>\n
H\u00e9las ! o\u00f9 sont les grains \u00e9tag\u00e9s en montagnes ?
\nL\u2019Angleterre a paru et soudain l\u2019Oc\u00e9an
\nA serr\u00e9 dans un si\u00e8ge immobile et g\u00e9ant
\nL\u2019orgueil et peu \u00e0 peu la faim de l\u2019Allemagne.<\/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":[709],"poems-book":[701],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-15684","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-709","poems-book-les-ailes-rouges-de-la-guerre","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n