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La force des choses
23.9.05
 
Les sanglots longs

Les sanglots longs
des violons de l'automne
blessent mon coeur
d'une langueur monotone.

Tout suffocant
et blême,
quand
sonne l'heure.
je me souviens des jours anciens,
et je pleure...

Et je m'en vais

au vent mauvais

qui m'emporte
de çà, de là,
pareil à la feuille morte...


Paul Verlaine, Chansons d'Automne

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