But a wealth of song, and of wind and water,
Requites not the love of an Indio’s daughter.
Don Miguel’s pastures lay far and wide,
His herds by peons were tended,
But all he possessed was as naught beside
Fair Inez so young and splendid.
Still his heart was sore, for the winds kept saying:
“The trees sesenta are graying, graying.”
Inez the fair walked ’neath the moss-grown trees,
By the side of her gray-grown lover;