Paroles et traduction Carlos Gardel - Misa de Once

Misa de Once

Entonces, tú tenías 18 primaveras
Yo 20 y el tesoro preciado de cantar
En un colegio adulto vivías prisionera
Y solo los domingos salías a pasear

Del brazo de la abuela, llegabas a la misa
Airosa y deslumbrante de gracia juvenil
Y yo te saludaba con mi mejor sonrisa
Que tú correspondías con ademán gentil

Voces de bronce llamando a misa de Once
Cuántas promesas galanas cantaron graves campanas
En las floridas mañanas de mi dorada ilusión
Y eché a rodar por el mundo mi afán de glorias y besos
Y solo traigo, al regreso, cansancio en el corazón

No sé si era pecado decirte mis ternuras
Allí, frente a la virgen divina de Jesús
Lo cierto es que era el mundo, sendero de venturas
Y, por aquel sendero, tu amor era de luz

Hoy, te dirá otro labio la cálida y pausada
Palabra emocionada que pide y jura amor
En tanto que mi alma, la enferma desahuciada
Solloza en la ventana del sueño evocador

Misa de Once, yo ya no soy el de entonces
Cuántas promesas galanas cantaron graves campanas
En las floridas mañanas de mi dorada ilusión
Y eché a rodar por el mundo mi afán de glorias y besos
Y solo traigo, al regreso, cansancio en el corazón

Mass of Eleven

Now, you were eighteen spring chickens
I was twenty and held singing dear
You were living in an adult school, a prisoner
And only went out on Sundays for a stroll

You would arrive for mass on your grandmother's arm
Stately and dazzling with youthful grace
And I would greet you with my best smile
Which you would return with a gentle gesture

Bronze bells calling to the Mass of Eleven
How many gallant promises the deep bells sang
In the flower-filled mornings of my golden dreams
And I wandered the world, rolling my passion for glory and kisses
And upon my return, I bring only weariness in my heart

I do not know if it was a sin to express my tenderness to you
There, in front of the divine Virgin of Jesus
The truth is that the world was a path of happiness
And, on that path, your love was a light

Today, other lips will say the warm and measured
Words of emotion that ask and swear love
While my soul, the terminally ill outcast
Weeps at the window of evocative dreams

Mass of Eleven, I am no longer the man I was then
How many gallant promises the deep bells sang
In the flower-filled mornings of my golden dreams
And I sent my passion for glory and kisses rolling through the world
And upon my return, I bring only weariness in my heart