Cantares
Todo pasa y todo queda
Pero lo nuestro es pasar
Pasar haciendo caminos
Caminos sobre la mar
Nunca perseguí la gloria
Ni dejar en la memoria
De los hombres, mi canción
Yo amo los mundos sutiles
Ingrávidos y gentiles
Como pompas de jabón
Me gusta verlos pintarse
De Sol y grana, volar
Bajo el cielo azul, temblar
Súbitamente y quebrarse
Nunca perseguí la gloria
Caminante
Son tus huellas el camino y nada más
Caminante, no hay camino
Se hace camino al andar
Al andar, se hace camino
Y al volver la vista atrás
Se ve la senda que nunca
Se ha de volver a pisar
Caminante, no hay camino
Sino estelas en la mar
Hace algún tiempo, en ese lugar
Donde hoy los bosques se visten de espinos
Se oyó la voz de un poeta gritar
Caminante, no hay camino
Se hace camino al andar
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso
Murió el poeta, lejos del hogar
Le cubre el polvo de un país vecino
Al alejarse, le vieron llorar
Caminante, no hay camino
Se hace camino al andar
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso
Cuando el jilguero no puede cantar
Cuando el poeta es un peregrino
Cuando de nada nos sirve rezar
Caminante, no hay camino
Se hace camino al andar
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso
Songs
Everything happens and everything is
But our thing is to pass
Pass making paths
Paths over the sea
I never chased glory
Nor leave in memory
Of men, my song
I love the subtle worlds
Weightless and gentle
Like soap foam
I like to see them painted
Of sun and scarlet, fly
Under the blue sky, tremble
suddenly and break
I never chased glory
Walker
Your footprints are the path and nothing more
Walker, there is no path
The path is made by walking
When you walk, you make a path
And when I look back
You see the path that never
It has to be stepped on again
Walker, there is no path
But wakes in the sea
Some time ago, in that place
Where today the forests are dressed in thorns
The voice of a poet was heard shouting
Walker, there is no path
The path is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse
He died the poet away from home
The dust of a neighboring country covers him
As they walked away, they saw him crying
Walker, there is no path
The path is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse
When the finch can not sing
When the poet is a pilgrim
When it is of no use to pray
Walker, there is no path
The path is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse
Blow by blow, verse by verse
Blow by blow, verse by verse