The ladies of Sevilla go forth to take the air,
They loop their lace mantillas, a red rose in their hair;
Upon the road Delicias their little horses run,
And tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, the bells go every one.
Beside the Guadalquivir, by orange-scented way,
The ladies of Sevilla  they come at cool of day;
They wave their fans coquettish, their black eyes gleam and glow,
And all their little carriage bells a-jingle, jingle, go.
There, too, the caballeros drive in the perfumed breeze,
Upon the road Delicias among the flowering trees;
Beneath their brown sombreros their dark eyes flame and flash,
And all their little horses' bells right merrily they crash.
Beside the Guadalquivir the hours are very fair,
The nightingale is tuning upon the scented air;
Oh, laughing Andalusia, beloved of the sun,
Your merry, merry little bells, they call me every one.