Spanish is the tongue of lovers,
Music light as fountain-spray;
And a senorita taught me
Every promise it can play.
Still her seal of love is on me
Though the raveling years unwind,
Though my rose-lipped senorita
Blossoms only in my mind.
Pepper trees recite their rosary
When the psalm of night appears,
Telling over their crimson berries
Strung on drooping cordeliers.
And I stand there by the Mission
With my love, my one-alone,
When she whispered on the moonlight:
" Mi amor, mi corazon! "
Down the long bright road of summer
Mission roses bloom again;
But their scent is only perfume —
It was breath of heaven then!
Night winds never moan the silence
But the vanished years restore,
Mourning doves will never sorrow
But she echoes, " Mi amor! "
The white stars came to move in heaven
Like a flock of grazing sheep,
While a shepherd moon among them
Watched — the world was dreams asleep.
Then I kissed my love in the moonlight,
By her door I held her close,
And her lips were trembling summer
When she whispered, " Adios! "
Spanish is the tongue of lovers;
And the plea of Spanish eyes
Cried their promise in the moonlight —
But I wasn't very wise.
Heyday rode my prancing saddle
When I left my love alone ...
Now the years forever echo,
" Mi amor, mi corazon! "
But a horse is meant to gallop,
Trails are made and meant to know,
Every young vaquero 's saddle
Meant for him to mount and go.
Only youth, too quick for silence,
Finds love was not meant for this —
Trails are armless brides to fancy,
Giving only dust to kiss.
But I never came to claim her.
It is all so far away,
Yet the knife-edge pain of heartache
Comes as if it were yesterday.
I spurred back to old San Gabriel
Like a wind on darkness blown,
When I heard her call on the mountain:
" Mi amor, mi corazon! "
Where the pepper trees were shaking
Silver moon-drops through their hair,
Padre led my beat of torment
To the campo santo . There
Was the raw earth, brute against her,
In its arms it held her close,
And I felt her lips caress me
With her final " Adios! "
Spanish is the tongue of lovers,
Music light as fountain-spray;
But the one who taught me vanished
With the promise it can play.
Now the night wind, in its sorrow,
Sings a low heart-breaking tone:
Still my senorita , calling,
" Mi amor, mi corazon! "
Music light as fountain-spray;
And a senorita taught me
Every promise it can play.
Still her seal of love is on me
Though the raveling years unwind,
Though my rose-lipped senorita
Blossoms only in my mind.
Pepper trees recite their rosary
When the psalm of night appears,
Telling over their crimson berries
Strung on drooping cordeliers.
And I stand there by the Mission
With my love, my one-alone,
When she whispered on the moonlight:
" Mi amor, mi corazon! "
Down the long bright road of summer
Mission roses bloom again;
But their scent is only perfume —
It was breath of heaven then!
Night winds never moan the silence
But the vanished years restore,
Mourning doves will never sorrow
But she echoes, " Mi amor! "
The white stars came to move in heaven
Like a flock of grazing sheep,
While a shepherd moon among them
Watched — the world was dreams asleep.
Then I kissed my love in the moonlight,
By her door I held her close,
And her lips were trembling summer
When she whispered, " Adios! "
Spanish is the tongue of lovers;
And the plea of Spanish eyes
Cried their promise in the moonlight —
But I wasn't very wise.
Heyday rode my prancing saddle
When I left my love alone ...
Now the years forever echo,
" Mi amor, mi corazon! "
But a horse is meant to gallop,
Trails are made and meant to know,
Every young vaquero 's saddle
Meant for him to mount and go.
Only youth, too quick for silence,
Finds love was not meant for this —
Trails are armless brides to fancy,
Giving only dust to kiss.
But I never came to claim her.
It is all so far away,
Yet the knife-edge pain of heartache
Comes as if it were yesterday.
I spurred back to old San Gabriel
Like a wind on darkness blown,
When I heard her call on the mountain:
" Mi amor, mi corazon! "
Where the pepper trees were shaking
Silver moon-drops through their hair,
Padre led my beat of torment
To the campo santo . There
Was the raw earth, brute against her,
In its arms it held her close,
And I felt her lips caress me
With her final " Adios! "
Spanish is the tongue of lovers,
Music light as fountain-spray;
But the one who taught me vanished
With the promise it can play.
Now the night wind, in its sorrow,
Sings a low heart-breaking tone:
Still my senorita , calling,
" Mi amor, mi corazon! "