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PROSOPEE STATUTERRE
Published Sep 4, 2022
Updated Sep 24, 2022
Culture
3 min
Culture
Published Sep 4, 2022
Updated Sep 24, 2022
3 min
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PROSOPEE STATUTERRE
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Hélas ! Devant le noir feuillage de cet arbre,
J'ai le cœur tout glacé dans ma robe de marbre,
Et par ses yeux troués d'ulcères inconnus,
La pluie en gémissant pleure sur ses bras nus.
Entre ses pieds jadis plus blancs que les étoiles,
Arachné lentement tisse de fines toiles,
Et tu n'es plus, Scillys, pour que sous ton ciseau
Elle se relève un jour souple comme un roseau !
En ce temps où la fleur se cache sous les herbes,
Nul ne sait le secret de nos formes superbes,
Nul ne sait revêtir quelque rêve écl
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345 readings
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