I pity the exiles who leave behind them
The love and beauty of a beloved lover;
But those she followed in the desert are happy:
They have with the woman carried away the fatherland.
They find the day of their native country
In the light of the eyes that still smile to them,
And paternal fields, on a virgin front,
The abandoned lilies begin to hatch again.
The departed sky follows them under new climates;
Because the lover has kept, in the soul and on the mouth,
A faithful reflection of the suns from there
And the old nights for the new layer.
I do not pity those; those have lost nothing:
They go, delighted eyes and scented hands
With a living memory! And everything is returned to them,
Seasons, earth and family, within the beloved ones.
I pity those who leave, really banished,
All they possessed on heavenly earth!
But even more, if he does not have in his own country
No lover to cry, I pity the one who remains.
Ah! Day and night search in his own home
This being necessary, a beloved lover!
It is more solitude with less horizon;
Yes, it is the worst exile, the exile in the homeland.
And neither the sky, nor the air, nor the virginal lily,
Neither the paternal field, cure the pain:
On the contrary, the tender love of the native soil
Makes the absentee sweeter to the heart and more distant.