Derri\u00e8re les coteaux st\u00e9riles de Kobb\u00e9 \ufeff
\nComme un bloc rouge et lourd le soleil est tomb\u00e9,
\nUn vol de vautours passe et semble le poursuivre.
\nLe ciel terne est ray\u00e9 de nuages de cuivre ;
\nEt de sombres lueurs, vers l\u2019Est, tra\u00eenent encor,
\nPareilles aux lambeaux de quelque robe d\u2019or.
\nLe rugueux Sennaar, jonch\u00e9 de pierres rousses
\nQui h\u00e9rissent le sable ou d\u00e9chirent les mousses,
\n\u00c0 travers la vapeur de ses marais malsains
\nOndule jusqu\u2019au pied des versants Abyssins.
\nLa nuit tombe. On entend les koukals aux cris aigres.
\nLes hy\u00e8nes, secouant le poil de leurs dos maigres,
\nDe buissons en buissons se glissent en r\u00e2lant.
\nL\u2019hippopotame souffle aux berges du Nil blanc
\nEt vautre, dans les joncs rigides qu\u2019il \u00e9crase,
\nSon ventre rose et gras tout cuirass\u00e9 de vase.
\nAutour des flaques d\u2019eau saum\u00e2tre o\u00f9 les chakals
\nPar bandes viennent boire, en longeant les nopals,
\nL\u2019aigu fourmillement des stridentes bigaylles
\nS\u2019\u00e9paissit et tournoie au-dessus des broussailles ;
\nTandis que, du d\u00e9sert en Nubie emport\u00e9,
\nUn vent \u00e2cre, charg\u00e9 de chaude humidit\u00e9,
\nAvec une rumeur vague et sinistre, agite
\nLes rudes palmiers-doums o\u00f9 l\u2019ibis fait son g\u00eete.<\/p>\n
Voici ton heure, \u00f4 roi du Sennaar, \u00f4 chef
\nDont le soleil endort le rugissement bref.
\nSous la roche concave et pleine d\u2019os qui luisent,
\nContre l\u2019\u00e2pre granit tes ongles durs s\u2019aiguisent.
\nArquant tes souples reins fatigu\u00e9s du repos,
\nEt ta crini\u00e8re jaune \u00e9parse sur le dos,
\nTu te l\u00e8ves, tu viens d\u2019un pas m\u00e9lancolique
\nAspirer l\u2019air du soir sur ton seuil fam\u00e9lique,
\nEt, le front haut, les yeux \u00e0 l\u2019horizon dormant,
\nTu regardes l\u2019espace et rugis sourdement.
\nSur la lividit\u00e9 du ciel la lune froide
\nDe la proche oasis d\u00e9coupe l\u2019ombre roide,
\nO\u00f9, las d\u2019avoir march\u00e9 par les terrains bourbeux,
\nLes hommes du Darfour font halte avec leurs b\u0153ufs.
\nIls sont couch\u00e9s l\u00e0-bas aupr\u00e8s de la citerne
\nDont un rayon de lune argente l\u2019onde terne.
\nLes uns, ayant mang\u00e9 le mil et le ma\u00efs,
\nS\u2019endorment en parlant du retour au pays ;
\nCeux-ci, pleins de langueur, r\u00eavant de grasses herbes,
\nEt le mufle enfoui dans leurs fanons superbes,
\nRuminent lentement sur leur lit de graviers.
\n\u00c0 toi la chair des b\u0153ufs ou la chair des bouviers !
\nLe vent a consum\u00e9 leurs feux de ronce s\u00e8che ;
\nTa narine s\u2019emplit d\u2019une odeur vive et fra\u00eeche,
\nTon ventre bat, la faim h\u00e9risse tes cheveux,
\nEt tu plonges dans l\u2019ombre en quelques bonds nerveux.<\/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":[921],"poems-book":[813],"poemes-theme":[950,149],"poete":[730],"class_list":["post-15950","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-921","poems-book-poemes-barbares","poemes-theme-lieu","poemes-theme-nature","poete-charles-leconte-de-lisle"],"yoast_head":"\n