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La Bibliothèque

Maurice Rollinat 1846 (Châteauroux) – 1903 (Ivry-sur-Seine)

Elle faisait songer aux très vieilles forêts.
Treize lampes de fer, oblongues et spectrales,
Y versaient jour et nuit leurs clartés sépulcrales
Sur ses livres fanés pleins d’ombre et de secrets.

Je frissonnais toujours lorsque j’y pénétrais :
Je m’y sentais, parmi des brumes et des râles,
Attiré par les bras des treize fauteuils pâles
Et scruté par les yeux des treize grands portraits.

Un soir, minuit tombant, par sa haute fenêtre
Je regardais au loin flotter et disparaître
Le farfadet qui danse au bord des casse-cous,

Quand ma raison trembla brusquement interdite :
La pendule venait de sonner treize coups
Dans le silence affreux de la chambre maudite.
 

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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    "La Bibliothèque" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 29 Jul 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/27552/la-bibliothèque>.

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