Peste Noire "Psaume IV" lírica

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"Seigneur, voici couler sang de la patrie.
J’entends le bruit qu'il fait en tombant sur la terre, le bruit sourd de 5 ans de luttes ennemies de ces gouttes tombant du corps de tant de freres.
Seigneur, voici couler sang de notre race, sang du combat guerrier, sang des guerres civiles, sang des foyers noircis que quelques flammes effacent. Sang de ceux qu'on fusille aux fosses de nos villes.
Seigneur, voici couler sang de notre terre. Le sang qui a coule n'est jamais qu'un sang pur, et le voici mele au sang des adversaires, fige sur nos paves comme un verglas plus dur.
Seigneur, voici couler sang de nos garcons. Il a tout recouvert la patrie dechire.
Quand verrons nous jaillir tardive saison, de tout ce sang verse la moisson desire ?"

De Robert Brasillach, in Poemes de Fresnes.

" Lord , here is the blood of the nation flowing .
I hear the noise it makes while falling on the earth , the dumb sound of five years of ennemies' fights , of these drops falling down from the bodies of so many brothers .
Lord , here is the blood of our kind flowing , blood of warlike fight , blood of civile wars , blood of darkened homes that a few flammes erase . Blood of those that get shot in the pits of our towns .
Lord , here is the blood of our earth flowing . The blood that has flown is nothing but a pure blood , & here it is mixed with adversaries' blood , rooted in our cobblestones like the hardest ice .
Lord , here is the blood of our sons flowing . It has covered the whole torn nation .
Where will we see the late season gushing , the desired harvest from all this poured blood ? "

From Robert Brasillach , in " Poems from Fresnes " .