The city's all a-shiningBeneath a fickle¹ sun, A gay young wind's a-blowing,The little shower is done. But the rain-drops still are clingingAnd falling one by one —— Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,And spring-time has begun.

    I know the Bois is twinklingIn a sort of hazy² sheen, And down the Champs the gray old archStands cold and still between. But the walk is flecked with sunlightWhere 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 airComes blowing up the Seine？ And still Ninette sits sewingBeside her window-pane, When it's Paris, it's Paris,And spring-time's come again.