Atalhos de Campo


O navio branco

One fine day we'll see
a wisp of smoke arising
over the extreme verge of the sea's horizon,
and afterwards the ship will appear.
Then the white ship
will enter the harbour, will thunder
a salute. You see?
He's arrived!
I shan't go down to meet him.
No, I shall stand there
on the brow of the hill and wait,
and wait a long time,
and I shan't find
the long wait wearisome.
And from the midst of the city crowd
a man - a tiny speck -
will make his way up the hill.
Who can it be?
And when he arrives -
what, what will he say?
He'll call, "Butterfly!"
from the distance.
Not answering, I'll
remain hidden,
partly to tease,
and partly so as not to die
at the first meeting.
And, a trifle worried,
he'll call, he'll call:
"My dear little wife,
fragance of verbena!" -
the names he used to call me
when he came here.
All this will happen,
I promise you.
Keep your fears;
with unalterable faith I shall wait for him.
Madame Butterfly/Puccini