La cueillette

Guillaume Apollinaire 1880 (Rome) – 1918 (Paris)



Nous vînmes au jardin fleuri pour la cueillette.
    Belle, sais-tu combien de fleurs, de roses-thé,
    Roses pâles d'amour qui couronnent ta tête,
    S'effeuillent chaque été ?

    Leurs tiges vont plier au grand vent qui s'élève.
    Des pétales de rose ont chu dans le chemin.
    Ô Belle, cueille-les, puisque nos fleurs de rêve
    Se faneront demain !

    Mets-les dans une coupe et toutes portes doses,
    Alanguis et cruels, songeant aux jours défunts,
    Nous verrons l'agonie amoureuse des roses
    Aux râles de parfums.

    Le grand jardin est défleuri, mon égoïste,
    Les papillons de jour vers d'autres fleurs ont fui,
    Et seuls dorénavant viendront au jardin triste
    Les papillons de nuit.

    Et les fleurs vont mourir dans la chambre profane.
    Nos roses tour à tour effeuillent leur douleur.
    Belle, sanglote un peu... Chaque fleur qui se fane,
    C'est un amour qui meurt !

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 22, 2023

43 sec read
96

Quick analysis:

Scheme AXAA BCBC DDXX ABAA CXCA
Closest metre Iambic hexameter
Characters 917
Words 139
Stanzas 5
Stanza Lengths 4, 4, 4, 4, 4

Guillaume Apollinaire

Guillaume Apollinaire was an Italian-born French poet, playwright, short story writer, novelist, and art critic born in Rome, in Italy, to a Polish mother. more…

All Guillaume Apollinaire poems | Guillaume Apollinaire Books

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