Seven League Boots

Clear sky, vast horizon,

But fog shrouds the Palace of Blancaflor.

And then the genie of my fate,

Wearing a suit I cannot describe,

Tells me that I alone am not enough to realize it.

That I must don the iron boots of Passo-Amor

(Passo-Amor, who roams the seven palaces

Of Blancaflor, spread out over the seven days,

In the seven parts of the world).

That I must don the iron boots of Passo-Amor,

Go ask the cowherds,

The shepherds, the duckherds and goatherds

Where the seven palaces of Blancaflor are.

That I must hear the song of the Little Prince of the deep,

Kill the dragon,

So that Passo-Amor may find

The Palace in the fog,

I, with iron boots, walking...

None of the herders know

What to answer my questions.

And then the genie of my fate,

In mourning clothes, with pity,

A torrent of tears on his face!

Stops me on my hopeless journey

Because there is no Palace of Blancaflor,

There is no Passo-Amor,

The king's son died in the deep sea

And there are not

Seven palaces, seven days, seven parts in the world.