Tree, tree br dry and green. br br The girl with the pretty face br is out picking olives. br The wind, playboy of towers, br grabs her around the waist. br Four riders passed by br on Andalusian ponies, br with blue and green jackets br and big, dark capes. br "Come to Cordoba, muchacha." br The girl won't listen to them. br Three young bullfighters passed, br slender in the waist, br with jackets the color of oranges br and swords of ancient silver. br "Come to Sevilla, muchacha." br The girl won't listen to them. br When the afternoon had turned br dark brown, with scattered light, br a young man passed by, wearing br roses and myrtle of the moon. br "Come to Granada, inuchacha." br And the girl won't listen to him. br The girl with the pretty face br keeps on picking olives br with the grey arm of the wind br wrapped around her waist. br Tree, tree br dry and green.