Text original - Anglès - my fair lady

I've grown accustomed to his face.
He almost makes the day begin.
I've grown accustomed to the tune that
He whistles night and noon.
His smiles, his frowns,
His ups, his downs
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I was serenely independent and content before we met;
Surely I could always be that way again-
And yet
I've grown accustomed to his look;
Accustomed to his voice;
Accustomed to his face.