Pastorcita Serrana

To you, mountain shepherdess, to you from the highlands, who’s close to the Lord
And you’re the flower of the mountain, bathed in the fragrant sunset all the time
My mountain shepherdess, who’s close to the Lord

In a beautiful valley of fragrant blooms
There lives a shepherdess sweeter and softer than a dream
Little bird, as you sway lightly in the branches
Go and tell my sweet love that I’m dying of love

Shepherdess, when? Oh, when will it be?
That you come to my little hut, pretty mountain shepherdess
That you come to my little hut, pretty mountain shepherdess

Tell her, my little bird; tell her that in tender sorrows
To the rustle of the leaves, I send her sighs of love
My laments will reach her in the notes of my flute
And the echo of my pain will ride on the wings of the wind

Shepherdess, when? Oh, when will it be?
That you come to my little hut, pretty mountain shepherdess
That you come to my little hut, pretty mountain shepherdess