Margarita Gauthier
Margarita Gauthier is the title of a tango written by Julio Jorge Nelson in 1935. The music was composed by Joaquín Mora.
Contents
Recordings
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Lyrics
Hoy te evoco emocionado, mi divina Margarita.
Hoy te añoro en mis recuerdos, ¡oh, mi dulce inspiración!
Soy tu Armando, el que te clama, mi sedosa muñequita,
el que llora, el que reza, embargado de emoción.
El idilio que se ha roto me ha robado paz y calma,
y la muerte ha profanado la virtud de nuestro amor.
¡Para qué quiero la vida!... si mi alma destrozada
sufre una angustia suprema, vive este cruento dolor.
Hoy de hinojos en la tumba donde descansa tu cuerpo
he brindado el homenaje que tu alma suspiró.
He llevado el ramillete de camelias ya marchitas,
que aquel día me ofreciste como emblema de tu amor.
Al ponerlas junto al lecho donde dormías tranquila,
una lágrima muy tierna de mis ojos descendió
y rezando por tu alma, mi divina Margarita,
un sollozo entrecortado en mi pecho se anidó.
Nunca olvido aquella noche que besándome en la boca
una camelia muy frágil de tu pecho se cayó.
La tomaste tristemente, la besaste como loca
y entre aquellos pobres pétalos, una mancha apareció.
¡Era sangre que vertías! ¡Oh, mi pobre Margarita!
Eran signos de agonía, eran huellas de tu mal.
Y te fuiste lentamente, vida mía, muñequita,
pues la Parca te llamaba con su sorna tan fatal.
Today I evoke you with emotion, my divine Marguerite.
Today I long for you in my memories, oh my sweet inspiration!
It’s your Armand, the one who calls out for you, my silky little doll,
the one who cries, the one who prays, overwhelmed by emotion.
The idyll that was broken has stolen my peace and calm
and death has desecrated the virtue of our love.
What do I want life for! If my shattered soul
suffers a supreme anguish, if it lives in this crude pain.
Today on my knees, on the grave where your body rests,
I’ve paid the homage that your soul sighed for.
I’ve brought the bouquet of camellias, already wilted,
that you offered to me that day as a symbol of your love.
As I laid them by the bed where you peacefully slept,
a very tender tear descended from my eyes,
and praying for your soul, my divine Marguerite,
a faltering sob nested in my chest.
I never forget that night when, kissing me on the mouth,
a very frail camellia fell from your chest.
You took it sadly, you kissed it like crazy
and among those poor petals a stain appeared.
It was blood you were pouring! Oh, my poor Marguerite!
Those were signs of agony, tracks of your illness.
And you left slowly, life of mine, little doll,
because the Grim Reaper was calling you with its fatal irony.