Ojos Tapatíos

There are no more beautiful eyes,
in my land,
than the black eyes, of a woman from Guadalajara;
looks that kill,
fiery pupils,
night when they sleep,
light when they look at us.

On a moonlit night,
perfume of orange blossoms,
in the sky stars
and warm breezes,
and behind the bars,
covered in flowers,
the bride who waits,
trembling with love, yessss

Seeing those eyes
that anxiously wait,
the white stars
extinguish their lights;
the breezes spread better aromas,
and all the flowers sigh with love.

For a glance,
from such beautiful eyes,
stars and flowers,
suffer from jealousy;
the breezes sigh,
the sky darkens,
and in the soul wanders,
the complaint,
of love.