La Pulpera de Santa Lucía

She was blonde and her eyes were blue
They reflected the glories of the day
And sang like a lark
The octopus seller of Santa Lucia

It was the flower of the old parish
Who was the gaucho who didn't love her?
The soldiers of four barracks
They sighed in the grocery store

The payador mazorquero sang to him
With a sweet moan of vihuelas
On the gate that smelled of jasmine
In the courtyard that smelled of diamelas

With all my heart I love you pulpera
And someday you will have to be mine
While they fill the neighborhood nights
The guitars of Santa Lucia

A singer from Lavalle took her
When the year forty died
His blue eyes no longer shine
The parish of Santa Lucia

Rosas' horns did not return
To sing vidalas and heavens
At the gate of the grocery store
The jasmines cried with jealousy

And the corn-growing payador returned
To sing in the empty courtyard
The mournful and final serenade
That the wind took from the river

Where are you with your blue eyes?
Oh pulpera who was not mine
How the guitars cry for you!
The guitars of Santa Lucia