The Poetry Corner

Paris In Spring

By Sara Teasdale

The citys all a-shining Beneath a fickle sun, A gay young winds a-blowing, The little shower is done. But the rain-drops still are clinging And falling one by one Oh its Paris, its 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 its Paris, its Paris, And the leaves are growing green. The suns gone in, the sparkles 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 its Paris, its Paris, And spring-times come again.