Maio, Maduro Maio
José Afonso
May, Ripe May
May ripe May, who painted you?
Who broke your spell, never loved you.
The sun was already rising in the South.
And a felucca was coming from Istanbul.
Always after the nap calling the flowers.
It was the day of the feast May of loves.
It was the day to sing.
And a felucca was sailing far away.
May with my friend, if only.
Always in the month of wheat it will be sung.
What does the fury of the sea matter.
Let your voice not weaken, let's fight.
In a long street, the shepherd king.
Sells the elixir of life that kills the pain.
Come see, May was born.
Let your voice not weaken, the crowd broke through.
