| His absence gave me this anguish, and sometimes his memory is a blessing
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| That soon I drown in pain... and nothing consoles me
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| To always go further than to see me without her
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| My step goes forward and back the heart
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| The course that drives me away so cruel, robs me of her caresses of love
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| And only the thought of her sees her, listens to her spellbound
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| He kisses her eagerly, feels her by my side
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| And I go, dreaming like this, further each time...
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| White little dove that you fly by towards the little house where my love is
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| White dove, for the sad absent you are like a letter of remembrance...
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| If you see her that I adore, without saying that I cry, give her some idea
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| How bitter it is to live without her, how it is to lose her lover, her warmth...
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| Keep going, pingos of my troop, because of a wandering wind we are a cloud
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| And in a sickness of absence, life always goes to her love, giving her the
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| goodbye…
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| white dove! |
| fly night and day from my nest in search
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| And I wrote in the sky with serene flight: «she never forgets you, she only thinks of you»
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| He does not know who never left his beloved from a distance, the regret
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| That imposes a harsh rigor on the soul, which comes from the side
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| That she sometimes names her measuring the path
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| Looking there in the shadows at the payments she left...
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| I have seen her cry in my arms I have seen her when I turned around when leaving
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| Her warm handkerchief of hers shake of her, and then go shrinking
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| Her image of her far from her… and in my enlarged soul
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| Of her Her charm of her… and this sorrow of not having her anymore… |