In far off sunny Spain’s Castilian moonlight,
An old guitar’s refrain brings back a June night,1
Within a garden fair,
Amid the flowers rare,
The sweetest rose that grew beneath the heavens’ blue, was my Anita.

With shadows softly creeping ‘cross the heather,
While all the world lay sleeping we were together.
The time soon came to leave her,
I pressed her to my heart,
And whispered low, “I love you, Senorita.”

So we parted while I heard her cry, my darling,
With adios her loving arms entwined me.
“Tho far away you’ll be from me,
Remember,
You’re going to leave a lonely heart behind thee.”

And now across the sea my rose is sighing,
In dreams she comes to me, her love undying,
And soon I’ll be returning to our garden of delight,
To love you in the blue Castilian moonlight.