Tree, tree
dry and green.

The best girl, the beautiful one
is gathering olives.
The wind, that seducer to towers, 
takes her by the waist,
Four riders
on Andalusian ponies passed
with sky blue, green suits, 
and enveloping dark cloaks. 
“Come to Córdoba, muchacha.” 
She doesn’t pay them any mind. 
Three little bullfighters scarcely 
wide around the waist passed by, 
with orange jackets
and silver antique swords. 
“Come to Sevilla, muchacha.” 
The girl doesn’t listen, she.
And when afternoon broke, 
and day split with night’s purple light, 
a youth passed that carried
roses and myrtles of the moon.

“Come to Granada, muchacha.”

And the girl did not listen to him.

The girl of fine face
continues gathering olives,
with the flannel arm of the wind
rounding the curve of her waist.

Tree, tree  
dry and green.

Author: Federico García Lorca
Translator: Manny Grimaldi