You will tell me, you, immense sea.
Where is my beautiful land,
that to make out from this distance
I want with a marine desire?
Oh, who could strip it away,
this cloud that blurs me;
that covers my white land,
dark, porous and silent?
The swift wind does not blow.
The sun is hidden.
The sky conceals his face.
The sea booms resoundingly.
My land, my land!
How far you are from me!
My eyes, subdued, crave
faithful to your green patina!
The birds no longer sing.
Your bugle is no longer heard.
My land, my land!
How far you are from me!