madame b.

Butterfly
You? you? you? you? you? you? you?
Beloved Idol!
Ador'd, adorèd being,
Fairest flower of beauty.
[taking the child's head in her hands, she draws it to her]
Though you ne'er must know it
`Tis for you, my love, for you I'm
dying, Poor Butterfly
That you may go away
Beyond the ocean,
Never to feel the torment when you are older,
That your mother forsook you!
[exaltedly]
My son, sent to me from Heaven,
Straight from the throne of glory,
Take one last and careful
look At your poor mother's face!
That it's memory may linger,
One last look!
Farewell, beloved! Farewell, my dearest heart!
Go, play, play. 1
(see too here and here and check out this -- it's really interesting)

Opéra imaginaire - Madame Butterfly, Puccini