There the nightingale, the traitor,
Lingered on his giddy way;
And these words of hidden treachery
To the dove I heard him say:
“I will be thy servant, lady,
I will ne’er thy love betray.”
But no English translation, however fine, can possibly do justice to this beautiful lyric:
Fonte frida, fonte frida,
Fonte frida, y con amor,
Do todas las avezicas