There is a melody for which I would surrender
All Rossini, all Mozart, all Weber,
An ancient, langorous, funereal tune,
With hidden charms for me alone.

And every time I hear that air,
Suddenly I grow two centuries younger,
I live in the reign of Louis the Thirteenth.
A green slope yellowed by the sunset,

Then a brick castle with stone corners,
Its panes of glass stained by ruddy colors,
Encircled by great parks, and a river
Bathing its feet, flowing between flowers.

Then I see a fair-haired, dark-eyed lady
In old-fashioned costume, at a tall window,
Whom perhaps I have already seen somewhere
In another life. .. and whom I remember!