Song of Farewell
Émile Naoumoff
To part is to die a little
To die to what we love
One leaves a little of one's self
In every hour and in every place
It is always the mourning of a wish
The last verse of a poem
To part is to die a little
To die to what we love
And one leaves, and it's a game
And until the final farewell
With one's soul one makes
One's mark at each goodbye
To part is to die a little