\u00a0\u00bb L’\u00e9pi naissant m\u00fbrit de la faux respect\u00e9 ;
\nSans crainte du pressoir, le pampre tout l’\u00e9t\u00e9
\nBoit les doux pr\u00e9sents de l’aurore ;
\nEt moi, comme lui belle, et jeune comme lui,
\nQuoi que l’heure pr\u00e9sente ait de trouble et d’ennui,
\nJe ne veux point mourir encore.<\/p>\n
Qu’un sto\u00efque aux yeux secs vole embrasser la mort,
\nMoi je pleure et j’esp\u00e8re ; au noir souffle du Nord
\nJe plie et rel\u00e8ve ma t\u00eate.
\nS’il est des jours amers, il en est de si doux !
\nH\u00e9las ! quel miel jamais n’a laiss\u00e9 de d\u00e9go\u00fbts ?
\nQuelle mer n’a point de temp\u00eate ?<\/p>\n
L’illusion f\u00e9conde habite dans mon sein.
\nD’une prison sur moi les murs p\u00e8sent en vain.
\nJ’ai les ailes de l’esp\u00e9rance :
\n\u00c9chapp\u00e9e aux r\u00e9seaux de l’oiseleur cruel,
\nPlus vive, plus heureuse, aux campagnes du ciel
\nPhilom\u00e8ne chante et s’\u00e9lance.<\/p>\n
Est-ce \u00e0 moi de mourir ? Tranquille je m’endors,
\nEt tranquille je veille ; et ma veille aux remords
\nNi mon sommeil ne sont en proie.
\nMa bienvenue au jour me rit dans tous les yeux ;
\nSur des fronts abattus, mon aspect dans ces lieux
\nRanime presque de la joie.<\/p>\n
Mon beau voyage encore est si loin de sa fin !
\nJe pars, et des ormeaux qui bordent le chemin
\nJ’ai pass\u00e9 les premiers \u00e0 peine,
\nAu banquet de la vie \u00e0 peine commenc\u00e9,
\nUn instant seulement mes l\u00e8vres ont press\u00e9
\nLa coupe en mes mains encor pleine.<\/p>\n
Je ne suis qu’au printemps, je veux voir la moisson ;
\nEt comme le soleil, de saison en saison,
\nJe veux achever mon ann\u00e9e.
\nBrillante sur ma tige et l’honneur du jardin,
\nJe n’ai vu luire encor que les feux du matin ;
\nJe veux achever ma journ\u00e9e.<\/p>\n
\u00d4 mort ! tu peux attendre ; \u00e9loigne, \u00e9loigne-toi ;
\nVa consoler les coeurs que la honte, l’effroi,
\nLe p\u00e2le d\u00e9sespoir d\u00e9vore.
\nPour moi Pal\u00e8s encore a des asiles verts,
\nLes Amours des baisers, les Muses des concerts.
\nJe ne veux point mourir encore. \u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n
Ainsi, triste et captif, ma lyre toutefois
\nS’\u00e9veillait, \u00e9coutant ces plaintes, cette voix,
\nCes voeux d’une jeune captive ;
\nEt secouant le faix de mes jours languissants,
\nAux douces lois des vers je pliais les accents
\nDe sa bouche aimable et na\u00efve.<\/p>\n
Ces chants, de ma prison t\u00e9moins harmonieux,
\nFeront \u00e0 quelque amant des loisirs studieux
\nChercher quelle fut cette belle :
\nLa gr\u00e2ce d\u00e9corait son front et ses discours,
\nEt, comme elle, craindront de voir finir leurs jours
\nCeux qui les passeront pr\u00e8s d’elle.<\/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":[],"poete":[722],"class_list":["post-15864","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-919","poems-book-oeuvres-completes-chenier","poete-andre-chenier"],"yoast_head":"\n