MATHILDE

                                                                                             M êler nos coeurs mutins

 

 

                                                                                             A u bout d’une nuit fauve

 

 

                                                                                             T ransis dans le satin

 

 

                                                                                             H âtif d’un matin mauve

 

 

                                                                                             I ngénus incertains

 

 

                                                                                             L ’amour qui seul nous sauve

 

 

                                                                                             D ’un trop morne destin

 

 

                                                                                             E st un rêve d’alcôve

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