Classic Poem

1

Carmencita, Carmencita,
With thy ebon eyes and tresses,
And thy beauteous body rhythmic
How can words of mine describe thee?

2

Not art thou, O child of genius,
Like those smiling dolls mechanic,
Gauzy gymnasts of the ballet,
Who with infinite gyrations,
And with leapings acrobatic,
Strive to dazzle and astonish:
Not of these art thou, niñita,
If thou wert this voice were silent.

3

When thou steppest out before us,
With that air Andalusian,
And the music sweetly tinkles,
Music of thy native hill-sides,
(List! the clack of castañetas)
And the welcome of the people—
Hands and voices—breaks around thee,
Then, O maid of Spain impassioned,
Doth thy spirit wake within thee:
Then, O thing with heart of fire,
Do the unseen genii seize thee,
Dwelling round us, o'er us, in us,
Deities of song and dancing:
Thee they seize, their favorite daughter,
And thou dancest at their bidding:
Mystic hands and voices urge thee:
Yea, for gods and men thou dancest,
Carmencita, Carmencita!

4

Hark! the hundred-handed plaudits
Of the people echo round thee:
Beauteous mænad, wildly driven
By the torrent of thy passion,
On its rhythmic waters tossing,
Now in pose moresque thou pausest.

5

Ah, though voice of mine may praise thee,
Yet this pen can never paint thee,
Paint thy sweet voluptuous fury,
Spirit of the dance incarnate,
Carmencita, Carmencita!