There is an air for which I would give

There is an air for which I would give

All Rossini, all Mozart, all Weber,

A very old, languid, funereal air,

Which has secret charms for me alone.

And every time I come to hear it,

My heart becomes two hundred years younger...

It's under Louis XIII, and I seem to see

a green hill extending, yellowed by the setting sun.

Then a brick chateau with corners of stone,

With windows tinted in reddish colors,

Surrounded by great parks, with a river

Bathing its feet, flowing among the flowers;

Then a lady at her high window,

Blonde with black eyes, in her ancient clothes,

Whom I had already seen, perhaps in another existence... And whom I remember!