Nous sommes tes grands parents.
\n\ufeffLes grands,
\nCouverts des froides sueurs
\nDe la terre et des verdures.
\nNos vins secs avaient du c\u0153ur.
\nAu soleil sans imposture\u2028
\nQue faut-il \u00e0 l\u2019homme ? Boire\u2026<\/p>\n
Moi. \u2014 Mourir aux fleuves barbares.<\/p>\n
Nous sommes tes grands parents\u2028
\n\ufeffDes champs\u2026
\nL\u2019eau est au fond des osiers\u2026\u2028
\nVois le courant du foss\u00e9
\nAutour du ch\u00e2teau mouill\u00e9\u2026\u2028
\nDescendons dans nos celliers :
\nApr\u00e8s le cidre, ou le lait\u2026<\/p>\n
Moi. \u2014 Aller o\u00f9 boivent les vaches.<\/p>\n
Nous sommes tes grands parents :
\n\ufeffTiens, prends
\nLes liqueurs dans nos armoires.
\nLe th\u00e9, le caf\u00e9, si rares,
\nFr\u00e9missent dans les bouilloires.\u2028
\nVois les images ; les fleurs :
\nNous entrons du cimeti\u00e8re\u2026<\/p>\n
Moi. \u2014 Ah ! tarir toutes les urnes.<\/p>\n
\u00c9ternelles Ondines,
\nDivisez l\u2019eau fine ;
\nV\u00e9nus, s\u0153ur de l\u2019azur,
\n\u00c9meus le flot pur.<\/p>\n
\ufeffJuifs errants de Norw\u00e8ge,
\n\ufeffDites-moi la neige ;
\n\ufeffAnciens exil\u00e9s chers,
\n\ufeffDites-moi la mer\u2026<\/p>\n
\u2014 Non, plus ces boissons pures, \u2028
\n\ufeffCes fleurs d\u2019eau pour verres ; \u2028
\nL\u00e9gendes ni figures\u2028
\n\ufeffNe me d\u00e9salt\u00e8rent ;
\n\u2028Chansonnier, ta filleule
\n\u2028\ufeffC\u2019est ma soif si folle ;
\nHydre intime, sans gueule,
\n\u2028\ufeffQui mine et d\u00e9sole !<\/p>\n
Viens ! les vins sont aux plages, \u2028
\nEt les flots, par millions !
\nVois le bitter sauvage
\n\u2028Rouler du haut des monts ;<\/p>\n
Gagnons, p\u00e8lerins sages,
\n\u2028L\u2019absinthe aux verts piliers\u2026<\/p>\n
Moi \u2014 Plus ces paysages.
\n\ufeffQu\u2019est l\u2019ivresse, amis ?<\/p>\n
J\u2019aime autant, mieux, m\u00eame\u2028
\nPourrir dans l\u2019\u00e9tang,
\nSous l\u2019affreuse cr\u00e8me,
\nPr\u00e8s des bois flottants.<\/p>\n
Peut-\u00eatre un soir m\u2019attend
\n\u2028O\u00f9 je boirai tranquille\u2028
\nEn quelque bonne ville,
\nEt mourrai \u2026ontent\u2028
\nPuisque je s\u2026tent.<\/p>\n
Si mon mal se r\u00e9signe,
\nSi jamais j\u2019ai quelque or, \u2028
\nChoisirai-je le Nord\u2028
\nOu les pays des vignes ?\u2026
\nAh ! songer est indigne,<\/p>\n
Puisque c\u2019est pure perte ;
\nEt si je redeviens\u2028
\nLe voyageur ancien\u2028
\nJamais l\u2019auberge verte\u2028
\nNe peut bien m\u2019\u00eatre ouverte.<\/p>\n
Les pigeons qui tremblent dans la prairie ; \u2028
\nLe gibier qui court et qui voit la nuit ;
\nLes b\u00eates des eaux, la b\u00eate asservie ;
\nLes derniers papillons ; ont soif aussi.<\/p>\n
Mais fondre o\u00f9 fond ce nuage sans guide\u2026
\n\u2028Oh ! favoris\u00e9 de ce qui soit frais,
\nExpirer en ces violettes humides\u2028
\nDont les aurores chargent ces for\u00eats.<\/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":[200],"poems-book":[194],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[191],"class_list":["post-2043","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-200","poems-book-illuminations","poete-arthur-rimbaud"],"yoast_head":"\n