I<\/p>\n
L\u2019eau claire ; comme le sel des larmes d\u2019enfance ;
\nL\u2019assaut au soleil des blancheurs des corps de femmes ;
\nLa soie, en foule et de lys pur des oriflammes
\nSous les murs dont quelque pucelle eut la d\u00e9fense ;<\/p>\n
L\u2019\u00e9bat des anges ; \u2014 non\u2026 le courant d\u2019or en marche,
\nMeut ses bras, noirs, et lourds, et frais surtout, d\u2019herbe. Elle.
\nSombre, avant le ciel bleu pour ciel de lit, appelle
\nPour rideaux l\u2019ombre de la colline et de l\u2019arche.<\/p>\n
II<\/p>\n
Eh ! l\u2019humide carreau tend ses bouillons limpides !
\nL\u2019eau meuble d\u2019or p\u00e2le et sans fond les couches pr\u00eates.
\nLes robes vertes et d\u00e9teintes des fillettes
\nFont les saules, d\u2019o\u00f9 sautent les oiseaux sans brides.<\/p>\n
Plus pure qu\u2019un louis, jaune et chaude paupi\u00e8re
\nLe souci d\u2019eau \u2014 ta foi conjugale, \u00f4 l\u2019\u00c9pouse ! \u2014
\nAu midi prompt, de son terne miroir, jalouse
\nAu ciel gris de chaleur la sph\u00e8re rose et ch\u00e8re.<\/p>\n
III<\/p>\n
Madame se tient trop debout dans la prairie
\nProchaine o\u00f9 neigent les fils du travail ; l\u2019ombrelle
\nAux doigts ; foulant l\u2019ombelle ; trop fi\u00e8re pour elle
\nDes enfants lisant dans la verdure fleurie<\/p>\n
Leur livre de maroquin rouge ! H\u00e9las, Lui, comme
\nMille anges blancs qui se s\u00e9parent sur la route,
\nS\u2019\u00e9loigne par del\u00e0 la montagne ! Elle, toute
\nFroide, et noire, court ! apr\u00e8s le d\u00e9part de l\u2019homme !<\/p>\n
IV<\/p>\n
Regret des bras \u00e9pais et jeunes d\u2019herbe pure !
\nOr des lunes d\u2019avril au c\u0153ur du saint lit ! Joie
\nDes chantiers riverains \u00e0 l\u2019abandon, en proie
\nAux soirs d\u2019ao\u00fbt qui faisaient germer ces pourritures !<\/p>\n
Qu\u2019elle pleure \u00e0 pr\u00e9sent sous les remparts : l\u2019haleine
\nDes peupliers d\u2019en haut est pour la seule brise.
\nPuis, c\u2019est la nappe, sans reflets, sans source, grise \u2015
\nUn vieux dragueur, dans sa barque immobile, peine.<\/p>\n
V<\/p>\n
Jouet de cet \u0153il d\u2019eau morne, je n\u2019y puis prendre,
\n\u00d4 canot immobile ! \u00f4 bras trop courts ! ni l\u2019une
\nNi l\u2019autre fleur : ni la jaune qui m\u2019importune,
\nL\u00e0 ; ni la bleue, amis, \u00e0 l\u2019eau couleur de cendre.<\/p>\n
Ah ! la poudre des saules qu\u2019une aile secoue !
\nLes roses des roseaux d\u00e8s longtemps d\u00e9vor\u00e9es !\u2026
\nMon canot toujours fixe ; et sa cha\u00eene tir\u00e9e
\nAu fond de cet \u0153il d\u2019eau sans bords \u2014 \u00e0 quelle boue ?<\/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":[201],"poems-book":[196],"poemes-theme":[171,401,149,238],"poete":[191],"class_list":["post-4571","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-201","poems-book-poesies-completes","poemes-theme-amour","poemes-theme-memoire","poemes-theme-nature","poemes-theme-tristesse","poete-arthur-rimbaud"],"yoast_head":"\n