La Añera

Where is my heart,
that went after hope?
I'm afraid that the night
will also leave me soulless.

Where is the little dove,
that cried at dawn?
She went far away,
leaving her tears on my chest.

When one leaves the homeland
and starts to climb,
the horse pulls forward
and the soul pulls back.

I have an old sorrow:
useless to throw it away.
And since it's a lasting sorrow,
I've called it the sorrowful one.

Where are the hopes?
Where are the joys?
The sorrowful one is the good sorrow
and my only company.