Thither—yes! thither will I go,
To the rosy vale, where the nightingale
Sings his song of woe.
In her hat of straw, for her gentle swain,
She has placed the lemons pale:
Thither—yes! thither will I go,
To the rosy vale, where the nightingale
Sings his song of woe.
Translation of John Bowring. Gil Vicente, 1480–1557.