Palomita blanca
Palomita blanca (White Little Dove) is the title of a tango vals written by Francisco García Jiménez in 1929. The music was composed by Anselmo Aieta.
Contents
Recordings
At the moment, there are no recordings for this song stored in the TangoWiki. If you have sources, add a new recording.
Lyrics
Su ausencia esta congoja me dio,
y a veces su recuerdo es un bien
que pronto se me ahoga en dolor...
Y nada me consuela
de ir siempre más lejos,
de verme sin ella.
Mi paso va adelante
y atrás el corazón.
El rumbo que me aleja tan cruel,
me roba sus caricias de amor,
y sólo el pensamiento la ve,
la escucha embelesado,
la besa con ansias,
la siente a mi lado.
Y voy, así soñando,
más lejos cada vez...
Palomita blanca que pasás volando
rumbo a la casita donde está mi amor,
palomita blanca, para el triste ausente
tú eres una carta de recordación...
Si la ves a la que adoro,
sin decir que lloro, dale alguna idea
de lo muy amargo que es vivir sin ella,
que es perder su amante calor...
Sigan adelante, bayos de mi tropa,
que de un viento errante somos nubarrón
y en un mal de ausencia se nos va la vida
rumbo a la querencia dándole el adiós...
¡Palomita blanca!
vuela noche y día de mi nido en busca
y escribí en el cielo con sereno vuelo:
"No te olvida nunca, sólo piensa en ti".
No sabe aquel que nunca dejó
su amada a la distancia, el pesar
que al alma impone un duro rigor,
que viene de ladero,
que a ratos la nombra
midiendo el sendero,
mirando allá en la sombra
los pagos que dejó...
La he visto entre mis brazos llorar,
la he visto al darme vuelta al partir
su tibio pañuelo agitar,
y luego irse achicando
su imagen lejana...
y en mi alma agrandado
su encanto... y esta pena
de no tenerla más…
Her absence gave me this anguish,
and sometimes her memory is a good thing
that suddenly drowns me in pain…
And nothing consoles me
from going always farther away,
from seeing myself without her.
My step marches on
and the heart goes behind.
The path that distances me, so cruel,
steals her caresses of love,
and only my thoughts see her,
hear her captivated,
kiss her with desire,
feel her by my side.
And I go on, dreaming like this,
farther away all the time…
Little white dove, you fly by
towards the small house where my love is.
Little white dove, for the one who´s sad and absent,
you are a letter of reminder…
If you see the one I adore,
without telling her I cry, give her an idea
of how bitter it is to live without her,
of what it is to lose her loving warmth…
Keep marching on, horses of my team,
because we’re the storm cloud of a wandering wind
and in a pain of absence life escapes from us
towards home saying goodbye…
Little white dove!
Fly night and day from my nest, searching,
and write on the sky with a tranquil flight:
“He never forgets you, he thinks about you only.”
The one who never left his beloved
behind in the distance, doesn’t know the grief
that a severe harshness imposes on the soul,
that comes as helper,
that names her from time to time,
measuring the path,
looking there in the shade
at the land he’s left…
I’ve seen her weep in my arms,
I’ve seen her, as I turned around when I left,
shake her warm handkerchief
and then I’ve seen her distant image
become smaller…
and within my soul her charm
grew bigger… and this sorrow
of not having her anymore.