Sara Teasdale

Here you will find the Poem Paris in Spring of poet 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.