Doce cascabeles

Twelve jingle bells
my horse carries
along the road.
And a couple of carnations
pinned to her hair
my pilgrim girl carries.

And the cart in front
carries a thousand little bells ringing.
And even the wheels
have their song,
because the axles
are chiming.
Covered crossbar with myrtles,
canopy with Andalusian sky.
How well my sorrels swing,
there's no cart like mine.

The road turns into flowers
with the joyful step of the pilgrims.
There are madrigals, kisses, and loves
on the roads and hillsides.
Under the wings of my hat,
how beautifully my pilgrim goes.
She spills grace and charm.
The whole land seems hers.