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PIAVE, Francesco Maria

La Traviata

It is late!

I wait, I wait - they never come to me!

(She looks at herself in the mirror.)

Ah, how I have changed!

But the doctor still gives me hope!

Ah, with this disease every hope is dead.

Adieu, sweet, happy dreams of the past,

the roses of my cheeks are already fading.

I miss so much Alfredo's love,

which once solaced my weary soul -

Solaced and comforted -

Ah, smile upon the woman who has strayed;

forgive her, oh God, grant she may come to thee!

Now all is finished, all is over.