Paris in Spring by Sara Teasdale — Read

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.