Little window, quiet little window,
you are sad and desolate, as I am,
no longer is seen, looking out, the beautiful
companion who went away and forgot us.
The flowers in the garden are already withered,
'cause, on leaving, their dew she withheld;
only there are left a few daisies
that, on departing, her hand watered them.
With those daisies, little window,
I'll make a bouquet that, on your cornice, I will place;
and one day, not too far, little window,
like those daisies, I will die.
The flowers in the garden are already withered,
'cause, on leaving, their dew she withheld;
only there are left a few daisies
that, on departind, her hand watered them.
Only there are left a few daisies
that, on her departure, her hand watered them.