One fine day, we will see Arising a strand of smoke Over the far horizon on the sea. And then the ship appears.... And then the ship is white! It enters into the port, it rumbles its salute. Do you see it?  He is coming! I don't go down to meet him, not I. I stay upon the edge of the hill And I wait a long time, But I do not grow weary of the long wait. Then leaving from the crowded city, A man, a little speck, Climbing the hill. Who is it?  Who is it? And as he arrives What will he say?  What will he say?

He will call  Butterfly  from the distance. I without answering Stay hidden, A little to tease him, A little so as to not die At our first meeting. And then, a little troubled, He will call,  he will call "Little one, dear wife Blossom of orange"... The names he called me at his last coming. All this will happen, I promise you this. Hold back your fears - I with secure faith wait for him.