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