Quand Marco passait, tous les jeunes hommes
\nSe penchaient pour voir ses yeux, des Sodomes
\nO\u00f9 les feux d\u2019Amour br\u00fblaient sans piti\u00e9
\nTa pauvre cahutte, \u00f4 froide Amiti\u00e9 ;
\nTout autour dansaient des parfums mystiques
\nO\u00f9 l\u2019\u00e2me en pleurant s\u2019an\u00e9antissait,
\nSur ses cheveux roux un charme glissait ;
\nSa robe rendait d\u2019\u00e9tranges musiques
\n\ufeffQuand Marco passait.<\/p>\n
Quand Marco chantait, ses mains sur l\u2019ivoire
\nEvoquaient souvent la profondeur noire
\nDes airs primitifs que nul n\u2019a redits,
\nEt sa voix montait dans les paradis
\nDe la symphonie immense des r\u00eaves,
\nEt l\u2019enthousiasme alors transportait
\nVers des cieux connus quiconque \u00e9coutait
\nCe timbre d\u2019argent qui vibrait sans tr\u00eaves
\n\ufeffQuand Marco chantait.<\/p>\n
Quand Marco pleurait, ses terribles larmes
\nD\u00e9fiaient l\u2019\u00e9clat des plus belles armes ;
\nSes l\u00e8vres de sang fon\u00e7aient leur carmin
\nEt son d\u00e9sespoir n\u2019avait rien d\u2019humain ;
\nPareil au foyer que l\u2019huile exasp\u00e8re,
\nSon courroux croissait, rouge, et l\u2019on aurait
\nDit d\u2019une lionne \u00e0 l\u2019\u00e2pre for\u00eat
\nCommuniquant sa terrible col\u00e8re
\n\ufeffQuand Marco pleurait.<\/p>\n
Quand Marco dansait, sa jupe moir\u00e9e
\nAllait et venait comme une mar\u00e9e,
\nEt, tel qu\u2019un bambou flexible, son flanc
\nSe tordait, faisant saillir son sein blanc :
\nUn \u00e9clair partait. Sa jambe de marbre,
\nEmphatiquement cynique, haussait
\nSes mates splendeurs, et cela faisait
\nLe bruit du vent de la nuit dans un arbre
\n\ufeffQuand Marco dansait.<\/p>\n
Quand Marco dormait, oh ! quels parfums d\u2019ambre
\nEt de chair m\u00eal\u00e9s opprimaient la chambre !
\nSous les draps la ligne exquise du dos
\nOndulait, et dans l\u2019ombre des rideaux
\nL\u2019haleine montait, rhythmique et l\u00e9g\u00e8re ;
\nUn sommeil heureux et calme fermait
\nSes yeux, et ce doux myst\u00e8re charmait
\nLes vagues objets parmi l\u2019\u00e9tag\u00e8re,
\n\ufeffQuand Marco dormait.<\/p>\n
Mais quand elle aimait, des flots de luxure
\nD\u00e9bordaient, ainsi que d\u2019une blessure
\nSort un sang vermeil qui fume et qui bout,
\nDe ce corps cruel que son crime absout ;
\nLe torrent rompait les digues de l\u2019\u00e2me,
\nNoyait la pens\u00e9e, et bouleversait
\nTout sur son passage, et rebondissait
\nSouple et d\u00e9vorant comme de la flamme,
\n\ufeffEt puis se gla\u00e7ait.<\/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":[241],"poems-book":[242],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[240],"class_list":["post-2663","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-241","poems-book-poemes-saturniens","poete-paul-verlaine"],"yoast_head":"\n