Translated By Frances Taylor
There is an air for which I would exchange
Rossini, Mozart, Weber, one and all—
An ancient tune, drowsy, funeral,
That stirs me with a charm remote and strange.
For every time I hear it played it seems
Two hundred years slip from my world-worn soul:
Louis XIII still reigns—the yellow beams
Of sunset kiss a little grassy knoll.
Then a brick castle with stone corners shows
Its windows pageanted with rosy hue,
Girdled with spreading parks; a river flows
Bathing its feet, the flowering meadows through.
Then to its topmost window comes a lady
Blond, with dark eyes, apparelled as of yore,
Whom in some long-forgotten life, it may be,
I saw!—and I remember evermore!
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
This work was published before January 1, 1928, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1928.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.