Le brouillard est froid, la bruy\u00e8re est grise ;
\nLes troupeaux de b\u0153ufs vont aux abreuvoirs ;
\nLa lune, sortant des nuages noirs,
\nSemble une clart\u00e9 qui vient par surprise.<\/p>\n
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus o\u00f9,
\nMa\u00eetre Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.<\/p>\n
Le voyageur marche et la lande est brune ;
\nUne ombre est derri\u00e8re, une ombre est devant ;
\nBlancheur au couchant, lueur au levant ;
\nIci cr\u00e9puscule, et l\u00e0 clair de lune.<\/p>\n
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus o\u00f9,
\nMa\u00eetre Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.<\/p>\n
La sorci\u00e8re assise allonge sa lippe ;
\nL\u2019araign\u00e9e accroche au toit son filet ;
\nLe lutin reluit dans le feu follet
\nComme un pistil d\u2019or dans une tulipe.<\/p>\n
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus o\u00f9,
\nMa\u00eetre Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.<\/p>\n
On voit sur la mer des chasse-mar\u00e9es ;
\nLe naufrage guette un m\u00e2t frissonnant ;<\/p>\n
Le vent dit : demain ! l\u2019eau dit : maintenant !
\nLes voix qu\u2019on entend sont d\u00e9sesp\u00e9r\u00e9es.<\/p>\n
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus o\u00f9,
\nMa\u00eetre Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.<\/p>\n
Le coche qui va d\u2019Avranche \u00e0 Foug\u00e8re
\nFait claquer son fouet comme un vif \u00e9clair ;
\nVoici le moment o\u00f9 flottent dans l\u2019air
\nTous ces bruits confus que l\u2019ombre exag\u00e8re.<\/p>\n
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus o\u00f9,
\nMa\u00eetre Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.<\/p>\n
Dans les bois profonds brillent des flamb\u00e9es ;
\nUn vieux cimeti\u00e8re est sur un sommet ;
\nO\u00f9 Dieu trouve-t-il tout ce noir qu\u2019il met
\nDans les c\u0153urs bris\u00e9s et les nuits tomb\u00e9es ?<\/p>\n
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus o\u00f9,
\nMa\u00eetre Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.<\/p>\n
Des flaques d\u2019argent tremblent sur les sables ;
\nL\u2019orfraie est au bord des talus crayeux ;
\nLe p\u00e2tre, \u00e0 travers le vent, suit des yeux
\nLe vol monstrueux et vague des diables.<\/p>\n
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus o\u00f9,
\nMa\u00eetre Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.<\/p>\n
Un panache gris sort des chemin\u00e9es ;
\nLe b\u00fbcheron passe avec son fardeau ;
\nOn entend, parmi le bruit des cours d\u2019eau,
\nDes fr\u00e9missements de branches tra\u00een\u00e9es.<\/p>\n
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus o\u00f9,
\nMa\u00eetre Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.<\/p>\n
La faim fait r\u00eaver les grands loups moroses ;
\nLa rivi\u00e8re court, le nuage fuit ;<\/p>\n
Derri\u00e8re la vitre o\u00f9 la lampe luit,
\nLes petits enfants ont des t\u00eates roses.<\/p>\n
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus o\u00f9,
\nMa\u00eetre Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.<\/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":[443],"poems-book":[447],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[206],"class_list":["post-9690","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-443","poems-book-lart-detre-grand-pere","poete-victor-hugo"],"yoast_head":"\n