FROM Calatrava as I took my way 
At holy Mary's shrine to kneel and pray, 
And sleep upon my eyelids heavy lay, 
There where the ground was very rough and wild, 
I lost my path and met a peasant child: 
From Finojosa, with the herds around her, 
There in the fields I found her. 
 
Upon a meadow green with tender grass, 
With other rustic cowherds, lad and lass, 
So sweet a thing to see I watched her pass: 
My eyes could scarce believe her what they found her, 
There with the herds around her. 
 
I do not think that roses in the Spring 
Are half so lovely in their fashioning: 
My heart must needs avow this secret thing, 
That had I known her first as then I found her, 
From Finojosa, with the herds around her, 
I had not strayed so far her face to see 
That it might rob me of my liberty. 
 
I questioned her, to know what she might say: 
"Has she of Finojosa passed this way?" 
She smiled and answered me: "In vain you sue, 
Full well my heart discerns the hope in you: 
But she of whom you speak, and have not found her. 
Her heart is free, no thought of love has bound her, 
Here with the herds around her."