One good day, we will see 

a strand of smoke arising 
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. 

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 as to not die. 
at the 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.