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Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde,
co sol que baixa tras dos pinares,
cas nubes brancas sombra dos ánxeles,
cas palomiñas que as alas baten,
con un batido manso e suave,
atravesando vagos celaxes,
mundos extraños que en raios parten
ricos tesouros de ouro e diamante.
Pasín os montes, montes e valles,
pasín llanuras e soledades;
pasín os regos, pasín os mares,
con pés enxoitos e sin cansarme.
Colleume a noite, noite brillante,
cunha luniña feitas de xaspes,
e fun con ela camiño adiante,
cas estreliñas para guiarme,
que aquel camiño solo elas saben.
Dempois a aurora co seu sembrante
feito de rosas veu a alumbrarme,
e vin estonces, antre o ramaxe
de olmos e pinos, acobexarse
branca casiña con palomare,
donde as pombiñas entran e saien.
Nela se escoitan doces cantares,
nela garulan mozos galantes
cas rapaciñas de outros lugares.
Todo é contento, todo é folgare,
mentras a pedra bate que bate,
mole que mole, dálle que dálle,
con lindo gusto faille compases.
Non hai sitiño que máis me agrade
que aquel muíño dos castañares,
donde hai meniñas, donde hai rapaces,
que ricamente saben loitare;
donde rechinan hasta cansarse
mozos e vellos, nenos e grandes,
e anque non queren que aló me baixe,
sin que o soupera na casa naide,
fun ó muíño do meu compadre;
fun polo vento, vin polo aire.
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I went on a Sunday, I went in the afternoon,
With the sun that goes down behind the stands of pine,
With the white clouds sunshade of the angels,
With the butterflies that beat their wings
With an easy and gentle flutter,
Traversing dim, dappled skies,
Alien worlds that part into beams
Rich treasures of gold and diamond.
I crossed the hills, hills and valleys,
I crossed plains and moors,
I crossed the rills, I crossed the seas,
With dry feet and untiring.
Nightfall caught up with me, a brilliant night
With a bright moon made of jasper,
And I went down the trail with her,
With the twinkling stars to guide me,
For they alone know that path.
Afterward the dawn with her semblance
Made of roses came to give me light,
And I saw then through the foliage
Of elms and pines, snuggled away,
Precious white house with pigeon loft
Where the darling doves enter and leave.
Sweet songs are heard within it,
Gallant lads revel inside it
With the lassies of roundabout places.
All is joy, all is leisure,
While the stone that slams and slams,
Grinds and grinds, knocks and knocks,
Plays rhythms to it with lovely taste.
There is no charming place that pleases me more
Than that water mill in the chestnut forest,
Where there are lasses, where there are lads
Who richly know how to spar;
Where grate until they tire
Young and old, children and grownups,
And although they don't want me to go down there,
Without anyone in the house being aware:
I went to the mill of my child's godfather,
I went riding the wind, I came riding the air.
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