Arbolé, Arbolé

Tree, tree
Dry and green

The girl with the beautiful face
Is picking olives
The wind, a tower's suitor
Grabs her by the waist

Four horsemen passed by
On Andalusian horses
Wearing blue and green suits
With long dark capes

"Come to Cordoba, girl."
The girl doesn't listen

Three young bullfighters passed by
Slim-waisted
Wearing orange suits
And ancient silver swords

"Come to Seville, girl."
The girl doesn't listen

When the evening turned
Purple, with diffused light
A young man passed by
Carrying roses and myrtles of the moon

"Come to Granada, girl."
And the girl doesn't listen

The girl with the beautiful face
Continues picking olives
With the wind's gray arm
Wrapped around her waist.