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