.Si les matins de grisaille se teintent
S'ils ont couleur en la nuit qui s'éteint
Viendront d'opales lendemains
Reviendront des siècles d'or cent fois mille et mille aurores encore.
Si mort à mors duchesse, noble Dame
S'il n'en sera plus que poudre de corps
Dorme son cÅur bordé.
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