1. Lady, whence come those ebon eyes of thine, Black as the coal where sleeps the living flame, Which steadfast gaze upon me through thy smile? 2. Nothing thou answerest: but methinks it is The Andalusian blood which shapes those orbs, By that fair ancestress of thine bequeathed. 3 Nothing thou answerest: but methinks it is The Andalusian blood which thus doth flower, E'en on this distant California shore. 4 And Carmen's music echoes through my brain -- The Toreador's song -- and in my dream we stroll Together 'mongst the men and maids of Spain. |