Sara Teasdale — Paris in Spring

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-time's come again.