There's a new beauty thrilling in my soul
When I recall those supple childish hands
Winning the proud piano to control,
Taming the passionate music of wild lands:

Slender maid-fingers rousing melodies
Within the mighty sleeping instrument,
Where thunder-toned sonatas lie at ease,
And infinite fair fugues dream on content!

Soft girl-hands that transpose the airs of Spain,
By white, still magic, to a lovelier key
Unknown of wise maestri , and in vain
Looked for in books where written measures be!

I almost think that Carmen's is no more
The madly wilful heart, but pure and sweet,
And that her voice, not mournful as of yore,
Sings joy beneath the touch of Marguerite!