Puccini, Giactmo Madama Butterfly. Liteetto. English & Italian ...

64
My
MADAM BUTTERFLY
tortured brow
Among your curls.
Though you
Tis for you I'm dying,
ne'er must know it
I, poor Butterfly,
That you may go away
Beyond the ocean,
Never to feel the torment when you are older
That your mother forsook you !
O my son, sent to me from Heaven,
Straight from the throne of glory !
Take one last careful look
At your poor
mother's face !
That its memory may linger,
Even though it may
be dim and faint.
Let not my beauty's lingering bloom
Be faded quite !
Farewell, beloved !
Go play play.
(Butterfly takes the child, seats him on a stool with his face turned to the left,
puts the American flag and a doll in his hands and motions him to play with
them, while she gently bandages his eyes. Then she seizes a dagger, and her
eyes still fixed on the child, goes behind the screen.- The knife is heard falling
to the ground, and the large white veil disappears, as though drawn by an
invisible hand. Butterfly emerges from behind the screen, the large white veil
is round her neck. Tottering, she groupes her way towards the child, and,
smiling feebly, has just enough strength to embrace him before she falls to the
ground beside him. At this moment Pinkerton's voice is heard outside, on the
right, calling repeatedly:
"Butterfly ! Butterfly !"
then the door on the right is violently burst open: Pinkerton and Sharpless
rush into the room and up to Butterfly, who, with a feeble gesture, points to
the child and dies. Pinkerton falls on his knees, while Sharpless takes the
child and kisses him, sobbing.)