Canto a La Patagonia

An immense region trapped in a thousand dreams
Like a rough poncho, of a yellowish brown
In its permanent anguish it cradles an old cry
While it strives to show the entrails of its land

The region of adventure, the eternal desert
Only with upright towers in anxiety for progress
A strident scream stirs the dry dust
That longs to show the coffers with a thousand scattered treasures

Patagonia! Patagonia! Your voice becomes an echo
To get lost far away like a tongue of fire
Tired of burning your fury in the fire of lament
When you remain in absence, asleep in your hills

When will the time come? The now of your time
Indian poncho of my homeland, warm, wide, and proud

Alone in your Southern destiny, with rheas and guanacos
You have some joy when your towns grow
But even with your roots, you don't retain the traveler
Who always, towards the horizon, leaves a goodbye without return

Sometimes it seems to give reasons to your longing
If he eats in Calafate and climbs the old Chenque
He goes after that proverb: There are local desires
Because it is the anxiety of many to be born in your bosom
To be born from the same source of a tenacious past
Where the jug is filled from which the whole world drinks

When will the time come, the now of your time?
Southern dawn of the road, climber and pioneer
When you show the sunset the shades of your silences
Eyes run absorbed to steal their sparkles
And yet, they are ignored, as if they were mysteries
The ancient truths of your immense rocky terrain

Patagonia! Patagonia! Perhaps in the new time
You will see grow in your stones, with a thirsty heart
The longed-for generation, the stigma of your dreams
And in your chorus of landscapes, the reason for your rights

My voice bleeds! IT BLEEDS, to shout that I love you
That you are part of my goods, in my troubadour endeavors
I wish I had been born, like a warrior spur
To bleed the veins that beat in time
And tell those who look from a different concert
Do you want to know what the homeland is?
Look at Patagonia! Get drunk with its skies
And teach your voices, the song of our winds
And they will know that there is a destiny marked by time
With the power of virtue, with its history of granary

So that those who remain silent may calm their hunger
Because it is a piece of the homeland, that on the face of our land
Rises presumptuous, pure, virgin, grand, and new
Argentina! Patagonia, with my song I worship you