In Seville there is a shrine
Called San Simon,
Where all the ladies
Go for orison.

There goes my lady,
And she 's the prettiest one,
In skirt over skirt, and a mantle
That changes with the sun.

On her sweet mouth
Is a holy hush,
On her fair face
Is a little blush.

In her dancing azure eyes
Is a little alcohol;
She glistens as she enters,
Like a sunbeam on the wall.

The priest who chants the mass
Cannot chant it through;
The little acolytes
Forget what they should do;

Instead of singing Amen, Amen ,
To God above,
The boys respond Amor, Amor ,
Love, love.