Pr\u00e9curseurs de l\u2019automne, \u00d4 fruits n\u00e9s d\u2019une terre
\nOu l\u2019art industrieux, sous ses maisons de verre,
\nDes soleils du midi sait feindre les chaleurs,
\nAllez trouver Fanny ; cette m\u00e8re craintive.
\n\u00c0 sa fille aux doux yeux, fleur d\u00e9bile et tardive,
\nRendez la force et les couleurs.<\/p>\n
Non qu\u2019un p\u00e9ril funeste assi\u00e9ge son enfance ;
\nMais du c\u0153ur maternel la tendre d\u00e9fiance
\nN\u2019attend pas le danger qu\u2019elle sait trop pr\u00e9voir.
\nEt Fanny, qu\u2019une fois les destins ont frapp\u00e9e,
\nSoup\u00e7onneuse et long-temps de sa perte occup\u00e9e,
\nRedoute de loin leur pouvoir.<\/p>\n
L\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 va dissiper de si promptes alarmes.
\nNous devons en naissant tous un tribut de larmes ;
\nLes siennes ont d\u00e9j\u00e0 trop satisfait aux dieux.
\nSa beaut\u00e9, ses vertus, ses gr\u00e2ces naturelles,
\nN\u2019ont point des dieux sans doute, ainsi que des mortelles,
\nArm\u00e9 le courroux envieux.<\/p>\n
Belle bient\u00f4t comme elle, au retour d\u2019\u00c9rigone,
\nL\u2019enfant va ranimer, nourrisson de Pomone,
\nCe front que de Bor\u00e9e un souffle avait terni.
\n\u00d4 de la conserver, Cieux, faites votre \u00e9tude ;
\nQue jamais la douleur, m\u00eame l\u2019inqui\u00e9tude,
\nN\u2019approchent du sein de Fanny.<\/p>\n
Que n\u2019est-ce encor ce temps let d\u2019amour et de gloire,
\nQui de Pollux, d\u2019Alceste, a gard\u00e9 la m\u00e9moire,
\nQuand un pieux \u00e9change apaisait les enfers !
\nQuand les trois S\u0153urs pouvaient n\u2019\u00eatre point inflexibles,
\nEt qu\u2019au prix de ses jours, de leurs ciseaux terribles,
\nOn rachetait des jours plus chers !<\/p>\n
Oui, je voudrais alors qu\u2019en effet toute pr\u00eate,
\nLa Parque, aimable enfant, vint menacer ta t\u00eate,
\nPour me mettre en ta place et te sauver le jour ;
\nVoir ma trame rompue \u00e0 la tienne encha\u00een\u00e9e ;
\nEt Fanny s\u2019avouer par moi seul fortun\u00e9
\nEt s\u2019applaudir de mon amour.<\/p>\n
Ma tombe quelque jour troublerait sa pens\u00e9e.
\nQuelque jour, \u00e0 sa fille entre ses bras press\u00e9e,
\nL\u2019\u0153il humide peut-\u00eatre, en passant pr\u00e9s de moi :
\n\u00ab Celui-ci, dirait-elle, \u00e0 qui je fus bien ch\u00e8re,
\n\u00bb Fut content de mourir, en songeant que ta m\u00e8re
\n\u00bb N\u2019aurait point \u00e0 pleurer sur toi. \u00bb<\/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":[919],"poems-book":[806],"poemes-theme":[349,330],"poete":[722],"class_list":["post-15862","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-919","poems-book-oeuvres-completes-chenier","poemes-theme-condition-humaine","poemes-theme-mort","poete-andre-chenier"],"yoast_head":"\n