Quand, m’éloignant déjà de la fête qui chante,
La Mort autour de moi tissera ses réseaux,
De sa bouche édentée et de sa main tremblante,
Quand une âpre vieillesse aura vidé mes os,[..]
Combien de fois j’ai subi vos courroux,
Combien de fois j’ai bravé vos regards sombres,
Mais en marchant, Madame, auprès de vous,
Combien de fois j’ai mêlé nos deux ombres !
Saviez-vous que l’épigramme était le plus court des genres littéraires ? Découvrez ma sélection d’épigrammes d’auteurs et mes écrits personnels.
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