La pulpera de Santa Lucía

She was blonde and her light blue eyes
reflected the glory of the day
and she sang like a lark
the pulpera of Santa Lucia.

She was a flower of the old parish.
Who was the gaucho who did not love her?
The soldiers of four barracks
sighed in the pulperia.

The payador mazorquero sang to her
with a sweet moaning of vihuelas
in the grille that smelled of jasmine,
in the courtyard that smelled of diamonds.

'With my soul I love you, pulpera,
and someday you'll have to be mine,
while the nights of the neighborhood are filled
the guitars of Santa Lucia'.

She was taken by a payador from Lavalle
when the year forty was dying;
her light blue eyes no longer illuminate
the parish of Santa Lucía.

The horns of Rosas did not return
to sing vidalas and skies to him.
In the grille of the pulpería
the jasmines wept with jealousy.

And the payador mazorquero returned
to sing in the empty courtyard
the mournful and final serenade
carried by the wind from the river:

Where are you with your light blue eyes,
O pulpera that was not mine?
How the guitars cry for you!
the guitars of Santa Lucia!