Coimbra always seems
Tradition-bound with dreams,
Where songs are read as themes,
The moon’s a seat of learning.
The textbook is a lass,
And only they can pass
Who’ve studied in a class of yearning.
Coimbra with its trees,
As everyone still sees,
Is for the Portuguese love’s city,
Where in the olden days,
The tale that still dismays
Was told of that Inez, so pretty.
Coimbra of the arts,
Where singers play their parts
In seeing our hearts laid bare…
With your scholars, too,
For us who sing of you,
The source of love that’s true is there.