Let me tell you, oh woman from Lima;
Let me tell about the glory
Of the vision that evokes my memory
Of the old bridge, the river and the poplar grove.
Let me tell you, oh woman from Lima,
Now that she still fills my memory with her scent;
Now that she is still gently rocking in the dream
Of the old bridge, the river and the poplar grove.
Jasmine flowers in her hair and roses around her face
The Blossom of Cinnamon was walking so gracefully;
She exuded refinement and, as she walked by, she released
The spiced scents that she kept locked in her chest.
From the bridge to the poplar grove, she walks so swiftly
Down the path, which trembles as it feels the rhythm in her hips;
She gathered the laughter carried by the river breeze
And released it all again, from the bridge to the poplar grove.
Let me tell you, oh woman from Lima;
Oh! Let me tell you, bronze-skinned one, my thoughts
So as to see whether you'll be awaken from this dream,
This dream that confuses, bronze-skinned one, your feelings.
Take in the exquisite scent that the cinnamon blossom exudes
When it is adorned with jasmine flowers, which magnify its beauty.
Cover the bridge with flowers once again and adorn the poplar grove
For then, the river shall accompany you as you walk down the path.
And remember that...
Jasmine flowers in her hair and roses around her face
The Blossom of Cinnamon was walking so gracefully;
She exuded refinement and, as she walked by, she released
The spiced scents that she kept locked in her chest.
From the bridge to the poplar grove, she walked so swiftly
Down the path, which trembled as it felt the rhythm in her hips;
She gathered the laughter carried by the river breeze
And released it all again, from the bridge to the poplar grove.