Soir de juillet torride et sec.
\n\ufeffSerrant le bois sonore au creux de son \u00e9paule,
\n\ufeffUn joueur de rebec
\n\ufeffS\u2019est lentement assis et joue au pied d\u2019un saule.<\/p>\n
\ufeffIl chante pour lui seul, et ne voit pas
\nQu\u2019en ce d\u00e9clin du jour se rapprochent des pas
\n\ufeffSous les arbres, au long des routes ;
\n\ufeffEt qu\u2019on se glisse derri\u00e8re les troncs
\nEt qu\u2019\u00e0 demi cach\u00e9s apparaissent des fronts
\n\ufeffDe jeunes filles qui l\u2019\u00e9coutent.<\/p>\n
\ufeffIl sait rythmer en ses chansons
\n\ufeffToute la ronde des saisons,
\n\ufeffMais aujourd\u2019hui, seul lui importe
\n\ufeffDe c\u00e9l\u00e9brer les humbles clos
\n\ufeffAvec leur vie et leurs travaux
\n\ufeffEt leur repos
\nLorsqu\u2019on fume, le soir, la pipe au seuil des portes.<\/p>\n
\ufeffIl a chant\u00e9 d\u2019abord
\n\ufeffL\u2019aube aux mains d\u2019or
\nQui passe en frissonnant sur la cime des h\u00eatres
\n\ufeffEt qui s\u2019en vient, pour r\u00e9veiller
\n\ufeffLes fronts pesants sur l\u2019oreiller,
\nFrapper chaque matin \u00e0 la m\u00eame fen\u00eatre.<\/p>\n
\ufeffIl a chant\u00e9 encor
\n\ufeffLe b\u00fbcheron alerte et fort
\nQui s\u2019enfonce sous bois pour reprendre sa t\u00e2che
\nEt dont reluit soudain dans les massifs vermeils,
\n\ufeffEn plein soleil,
\n\ufeffLa hache.<\/p>\n
\ufeffIl a chant\u00e9 d\u2019un gosier ferme et plein
\nLa charrue entaillant les glaises violettes,
\nL\u2019homme aux bras durs qui b\u00eache et qui hal\u00e8te,
\nEt sa femme \u00e0 genoux qui bine un champ de lin ;
\n\ufeffIl a chant\u00e9, et maintenant il chante
\nLa sieste de midi sous les branches penchantes ;
\nL\u2019horizon doucement par les vents secou\u00e9 ;
\nLes longs troupeaux en marche \u00e0 travers route et plaine
\nDont les dos in\u00e9gaux et mouvants sous la laine
\nApparaissent au loin comme un champ remu\u00e9 ;
\nSon rythme vit et fait trembler les vieux villages
\nDu quadruple galop d\u2019un volant attelage ;
\nAvec son mince archet mordant son rebec faux
\nIl imite le bruit court et sifflant des faux
\nOu le cri du grillon sous la fine poussi\u00e8re.
\nIl chante, le beau gars, debout dans la lumi\u00e8re,
\nQui s\u2019\u00e9tanche le front du revers de sa main.
\nIl indique le geste ondoyant d\u2019un chemin
\nQui s\u2019incurve et s\u2019\u00e9ploie et contourne la haie.
\nUn bruissement s\u2019entend sous la grande futaie
\nEt voici qu\u2019\u00e0 leur tour les b\u00eates au poil roux
\n\ufeffSortent de l\u2019ombre et se hasardent
\n\ufeffEt se glissent et s\u2019approchent, et tout \u00e0 coup,
\n\ufeffAvec des yeux fixes et doux,
\n\ufeffL\u2019environnent et le regardent.<\/p>\n
Le chant s\u2019est arr\u00eat\u00e9, et l\u2019archet suspendu
\nNe semble plus glisser que sur un rai de lune.
\nLes \u00e9toiles, l\u00e0-haut, scintillent une \u00e0 une ;
\nUn tel silence autour des bois s\u2019est r\u00e9pandu
\nQu\u2019on croirait qu\u2019il s\u2019\u00e9tend jusqu\u2019au bout de la terre.
\nDoucement, lentement, le vieux m\u00e9n\u00e9trier
\nSe l\u00e8ve et puis s\u2019en va par le prochain sentier
\nEt puis s\u2019efface et dispara\u00eet dans le myst\u00e8re.<\/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":[708],"poems-book":[702],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-15704","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-708","poems-book-les-bles-mouvants","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n