La terre par moments doute ; on ne comprend plus.
\nL\u2019homme a devant les yeux de la brume, un reflux,
\nOn ne sait quoi de p\u00e2le et de cr\u00e9pusculaire ;
\nOn n\u2019a plus d\u2019all\u00e9gresse, on n\u2019a plus de col\u00e8re ;
\nLa disparition produit l\u2019effarement.
\nL\u2019\u0153il fauve du hibou regarde affreusement.
\nToutes sortes d\u2019\u00e9clairs inexplicables brillent.
\nL\u2019autel penche, et les vers du s\u00e9pulcre y fourmillent.
\nTout se m\u00eale ; Irmensul ressemble \u00e0 J\u00e9hovah ;
\nLe sage stup\u00e9fait balbutie et s\u2019en va ;
\nLe mal semble identique au bien dans la p\u00e9nombre ;
\nOn ne voit que le pied de l\u2019\u00e9chelle du Nombre
\nEt l\u2019on n\u2019ose monter vers l\u2019obscur infini.
\nDodone vaguement parle \u00e0 Geths\u00e9mani,
\nL\u2019\u0152ta fume non loin du Sina\u00ef qui tonne ;
\nOn fouille, on r\u00eave, on nie, on querelle, on s\u2019\u00e9tonne ;
\nDes aveugles entr\u2019eux se montrent le chemin ;
\nLe divin ciel a tort devant l\u2019esprit humain ;
\nLe penseur est croyant, le savant est ath\u00e9e ;
\nLa conscience \u00e9coute, essaye, et, d\u00e9rout\u00e9e,
\nPrend le faux pour le vrai dans ces t\u00e2tonnements.
\nO\u00f9 l\u2019un voit des v\u00e9das, l\u2019autre voit des romans.
\nLes choses qu\u2019on nommait vertus perdent leurs formes.
\nLes monstruosit\u00e9s font des ombres \u00e9normes
\nJusque sur l\u2019\u00e2me humaine et sur le firmament.
\nPlus d\u2019honneur, plus de foi, plus rien, plus de serment.
\nOn voit encor la cime, on ne voit plus le phare.
\nUne lueur de torche empourpre la tiare.
\nOn cherche \u00e0 voir, on r\u00f4de, on va, le cou tendu.
\nL\u2019amour au fond des c\u0153urs bat de l\u2019aile \u00e9perdu
\nComme s\u2019il n\u2019\u00e9tait plus en s\u00fbret\u00e9 dans l\u2019homme.
\nLa route est noire ; on crie, on s\u2019appelle, on se nomme.
\nQui donc est l\u00e0 ? Parlez. On t\u00e2te son voisin.
\nLa foule \u00e9parse flotte avec un bruit d\u2019essaim ;
\nOn se touche, on se voit, mais on n\u2019est plus ensemble.
\nLe mal est empereur, la nuit est reine. On tremble.
\nUn tr\u00f4ne d\u2019ombre est l\u00e0. Les mis\u00e9rables font
\nDes groupes effrayants dans l\u2019ab\u00eeme profond ;
\nOn croit voir des gla\u00e7ons que les gouffres charrient ;
\nTout est confus et bl\u00eame ; et les t\u00e9n\u00e8bres rient.
\nLe fond du ciel est trouble, horrible et pluvieux ;
\nEt le petit enfant qui passe para\u00eet vieux.
\nIl semble que la vie \u00e9ternelle d\u00e9croisse.<\/p>\n
L\u2019\u00e2me alors est sinistre, et voit avec angoisse
\nCes occultations redoutables de Dieu.<\/p>\n
Na\u00eet-on ? meurt-on ? quel est le temps ? quel est le lieu ?
\nLes peuples sont hagards ; ces brins d\u2019herbe frissonnent ;
\nOn entend des tocsins et des clairons qui sonnent ;
\nLe vent est lourd, l\u2019espace est froid, le globe est nu ;
\nLe d\u00e9mon souriant dit : Je suis m\u00e9connu.<\/p>\n
6 mai 1870.<\/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":[459],"poems-book":[452],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[206],"class_list":["post-9812","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-459","poems-book-les-quatre-vents-de-lesprit","poete-victor-hugo"],"yoast_head":"\n