Un po\u00e8te est parti ; sur sa tombe ferm\u00e9e
\nPas un chant, pas un mot dans cette langue aim\u00e9e
\nDont la douceur divine ici-bas l\u2019enivrait.
\nSeul, un pauvre arbre triste, \u00e0 la p\u00e2le verdure,
\nLe saule qu\u2019il r\u00eavait, au vent du soir, murmure
\nSur son ombre \u00e9plor\u00e9e un tendre et long regret.<\/p>\n
Ce n\u2019est pas de l\u2019oubli ; nous r\u00e9p\u00e9tons encore.
\nPo\u00e8te de l\u2019amour, ces chants que fit \u00e9clore
\nDans ton \u00e2me \u00e9perdue un \u00e9ternel tourment,
\nEt le Temps sans piti\u00e9, qui brise de son aile
\nBien des lauriers, le Temps d\u2019une gr\u00e2ce nouvelle
\nCouronne en s\u2019\u00e9loignant ton souvenir charmant.<\/p>\n
Tu fus l\u2019enfant choy\u00e9 du si\u00e8cle. Tes caprices
\nNous trouvaient indulgents. Nous \u00e9tions les complices
\nDe tes jeunes \u00e9carts ; tu pouvais tout oser.
\nDe la Muse pour toi nous savions les tendresses,
\nEt nos regards charm\u00e9s ont compt\u00e9 ses caresses,
\nDe son premier sourire \u00e0 son dernier baiser.<\/p>\n
Parmi nous maint po\u00e8te \u00e0 la bouche inspir\u00e9e
\nAvait d\u00e9j\u00e0 rouvert une source sacr\u00e9e ;
\nOui, d\u2019autres nous avaient de leurs chants abreuv\u00e9s.
\nMais le cri qui saisit le c\u0153ur et le remue,
\nMais ces accents profonds qui d\u2019une l\u00e8vre \u00e9mue
\nVont \u00e0 l\u2019\u00e2me de tous, toi seul les as trouv\u00e9s.<\/p>\n
Au concert de nos pleurs ta voix s\u2019\u00e9tait m\u00eal\u00e9e.
\nEntre nous, fils souffrants d\u2019une \u00e9poque troubl\u00e9e,
\nLe doute et la douleur formaient comme un lien.
\nTa lyre en nous touchant nous \u00e9tait douce et ch\u00e8re ;
\nDans le chantre divin nous sentions tous un fr\u00e8re ;
\nC\u2019est le sang de nos c\u0153urs qui courait dans le tien.<\/p>\n
De quelles profondeurs d\u2019une \u00e2me ivre et bless\u00e9e
\nSortait-il, cet aveu de ta fi\u00e8vre insens\u00e9e ?
\nTandis que vers le ciel qui se voile et se cl\u00f4t
\nDe la foule montait une rumeur confuse,
\nFier et beau, tu jetais, jeune amant de la Muse,
\n\u00c0 travers tous ces bruits ton immortel sanglot.<\/p>\n
Lorsque le rossignol, dans la saison br\u00fblante
\nDe l\u2019amour et des fleurs, sur la branche tremblante
\nSe pose pour chanter son mal cher et secret,
\nRien n\u2019arr\u00eate l\u2019essor de sa plainte infinie,
\nEt de son gosier fr\u00eale un long jet d\u2019harmonie
\nS\u2019\u00e9lance et se r\u00e9pand au sein de la for\u00eat.<\/p>\n
La voix m\u00e9lodieuse enchante au loin l\u2019espace\u2026
\nMais, soudain, tout se tait ; le voyageur qui passe
\nSous la feuille des bois sent un frisson courir.
\nDe l\u2019oiseau qu\u2019entra\u00eenait une ivresse imprudente
\nL\u2019\u00e2me s\u2019est envol\u00e9e avec la note ardente\u2026
\nH\u00e9las ! chanter ainsi c\u2019\u00e9tait vouloir mourir !<\/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":[197],"poems-book":[715],"poemes-theme":[951],"poete":[717],"class_list":["post-15798","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-197","poems-book-premieres-poesies-ackermann","poemes-theme-poete","poete-louise-ackermann"],"yoast_head":"\n