Paris In Spring

by Sara Teasdale

　　The city's all a-shining Beneath a fickle sun, A gay young wind's a-blowing, The little shower is done. But the rain-drops still are clinging And falling one by one Oh it's Paris, it's Paris, And spring-time has begun. I know the Bois is twinkling In a sort of hazy sheen, And down the Champs the gray old arch Stands cold and still between. But the walk is flecked with sunlight Where the great acacias lean, Oh it;s Paris, it's Paris, And the leaves are growing green. The sun's gone in, the sparkle's dead, There falls a dash of rain, But who would care when such an air Comes blowing up the Seine? And still Ninette sits sewing Beside her window-pane, When it's Paris, it's Paris, And spring-times come again.