Tirao por la vida de errante bohemio
estoy, Buenos Aires, anclao en Paris;
curtido de males, bandeado de apremios,
te evoco desde este lejano pais.

Contemplo la nieve que cae blandamente
desde mi ventana que da al bulevar.
Las luces rojizas con tonos murientes,
parecen pupilas de extraño mirar.

Lejano Buenos Aires, !que lindo que has de estar!
Ya van para diez años que me viste zarpar.
Aqui, en este Montmartre, faubourg sentimental,
yo siento que el recuerdo me clava su puñal.

!Como habra cambiado tu calle Corrientes!
!Suipacha, Esmeralda, tu mismo arrabal!
Alguien me ha contado que estas floreciente
y un juego de calles se da en diagonal.

!No sabes las ganas que tengo de verte!
Aqui estoy parado, sin plata y sin fe.
!Quien sabe una noche me encane la muerte
y... chau, Buenos Aires, no te vuelva a ver!

Pulled by the life of a nomadic Bohemian
I am, Buenos Aires, anchored in Paris;
hardened by evils, chased by pressures,
I evoke you from this distant country.

I contemplate the snow that falls softly
from my window that faces the boulevard.
The reddish lights with dimming tones,
seem like pupils of strange gaze.

Distant Buenos Aires, how pretty you must be!
It's going on ten years since you saw me weigh anchor.
Here, in this Montmartre, sentimental district,
I feel that the memory digs its dagger in me.

How must have changed your Corrientes Street!
Suipacha, Esmeralda, your very own suburb!
Somebody has told me that you're flourishing
and a set of streets run in diagonal.

You don't know the desire I have to see you!
Here I am stopped, without money or faith.
Who knows, one night death takes me away
and... so long, Buenos Aires, I don't return to see you!