Then the trim white vessel
Glides into the harbor.
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 a hillock,
And wait there, and wait for a long time,
But never weary of the long waiting.

From out of 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 ans'ring hold myself quietly concealed;
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.

"My dear, my baby wife,
My little Butterfly."