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One fine day we'll notice
A thread of smoke arising
on the sea In the far horizon,
And then the ship appearing;
Then the trim white vessel glides into the harbour
thunders forth her cannon.
See you? Now he is coming!
I do not go to meet him.
Not I!
I stay upon the brow of the hillock, And wait there ...
and wait for a long time. But never weary
of the long waiting.
From out the crowded city
There is coming a man, a little speck in the distance,
Climbing the hillock.
Can you guess who it is?
And when he's reached the summit,
Can you guess what he'll say?
He will call: ``Butterfly'' from the distance.
I, without answ'ring,
Hold myself quietly conceal'd,
A bit to tease him
and a bit so as not to die At our first meeting;
and then, a little troubled He will call, he will call:
``Dear baby wife of mine, ...
Dear little orange blossom!''
The names he used to call me when he came here.
This will all come to pass as I tell you.
Banish your idle fears, For he will return I know it.