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 harbor,
Thunders forth her cannon.
See you? He is coming!
I do not go to meet him.
Not I. I stay
Upon the brow of the hillock and wait, 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 dstance.
I, without answering,
Hold myself quietly concaled,
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, just as I tell you.
Banish your idle fears – for he’ll return, I know it.