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| Sur la morte d’une cousine de sept ans (Poème de Hégésippe Moreau) |
On the death of a seven years old cousin (Poem by Hégésippe Moreau) |
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| Hélas, si j’avais su lorsque ma voix qui prêche T’ennuyait de leçons, que sur toi rose et fraîche L’oiseau noir du malheur planait inaperçu, Que la fièvre guettait sa proie et que la porte Où tu jouais hier te verrait passer morte… Hélas, si j’avais su !… Enfant, je t’aurais fait l’existence bien douce, Sous chacun de tes pas j’aurais mis de la mousse; Tes ris auraient sonné chacun de tes instants; Et j’aurais fait tenir dans ta petite vie Des trésors de bonheur immense à faire envie Aux heureux de cent ans. Loin des bancs où pâlit l’enfance prisonnière, Nous aurions fait tous deux l’école buissonnière. Au milieu des parfums et des champs d’alentour J’aurais vidé les nids pour emplir ta corbeille; Et je t’aurais donné plus de fleurs qu’une abeille N’en peut voir en un jour. Puis, quand le vieux janvier les épaules drapées D’un long manteau de neige et suivi de poupées, De magots, de pantins, minuit sonnant accourt; Parmi tous les cadeaux qui pleuvent pour étrenne, Je t’aurais faite asseoir comme une jeune reine Au milieu de sa cour. Mais je ne savais pas et je prêchais encore; Sûr de ton avenir, je le pressais d’éclore, Quand tout à coup pleurant un pauvre espoir déçu, De ta petite main j’ai vu tomber le livre; Tu cessas à la fois de m’entendre et de vivre… Hélas, si j’avais su ! |
Alas, had I known when with my preaching voice I was bothering you with lessons, that on you, rose and fresh, The black bird of misfortune was downing unnoticed, That the fever was pointing at its prey and the door Where yesterday you were playing it would see you passing through dead… Alas, had I known !… Little girl, I would have made your existence quite sweet, Under each of your steps I would have placed some moss; Your laughs would have resounded in each of your moments; And I would have filled your little life with Some great treasures of happiness that would have made jealous The happy centenarians. From the school benches where pales as a prisoner childhood, We would have both been truant. In the middle of perfumes and with fields all around I would have emptied nests to fill your basket; And I would have given you more flowers than A bee can see in a day. Then, when the old January, with a long white cloak On its shoulders and followed by puppets, Dolls and marionettes, would come at midnight; Amongst all the presents that shower down, I would have made you sit as a young queen In the middle of her court. But I didn’t know and I still preached; Sure of your future, I would urge it to come, When suddenly crying for a disappointed hope, From your little hand I saw the book dropping; You ceased at the same time to hear me and to live… Alas, had I known ! |