In cavern, in a canyon,
Excavating for a mine,
Dwelt a miner, forty-niner
And his daughter Clementine.
Light she was and like a fairy,
And her shoes were number nine,
Herring boxes without topses,
Sandals were for Clementine.
Drove she ducklings to the water
Every morning, just at nine;
Hit her foot against a splinter,
Fell into the foaming brine.
Saw her lips above the water
Blowing bubbles mighty fine
But alas! I was no swimmer
So I lost my Clementine.
In a dream she still does haunt me
Robed in garments, soaked in brine;
Though in life I used to hug her,
Now she's dead I'll draw the line.
How I missed her, how I missed her,
How I missed my Clementine!
But I kissed her little sister
And forgot my Clementine.
Là in un canyon
nel lontano ottocentotrentasei
c'era ancora un omettino
con la figlia Clementine.
Era lieve come fata
e portava ai suoi piedin,
una foglia d'insalata
e una piuma d'uccellin.
Un bel giorno ad acque chete,
con le ochette se ne andò;
scivolò dentro uno stagno
e impigliata vi restò.
Affiorò su su dal fondo
qualche bolla rossa e blu;
ma nuotar io non sapevo,
Clementine or non è più.
Nel mio sogno tu ritorni:
la tua gonna rossa a pois.
Mi sorridi come ai giorni
di una favola lontan.