The

The Take a deep breath.

This moment is yours.

This is naked on Kashmir. This is Naked on Kashmir. I'm The The city's all a shining beneath a fickle sun, a gay young winds are blowing. The little shower is done. But the rain drops still are clinging,

and fall one by one. Oh, it's Paris, it's Paris, and springtime has begun.

I know the boys twinkling in a sort of hazy sheen, and down the shan, and gray old arch stands cold

and still between. But the walk is fleckled with sunlight, where the great acacia's lean,

oh, it's Paris, it's Paris, and the leaves are growing green.

The sun's gone in, the sparkles dead, there falls a dash of rain.

But who could care when such an air comes blowing up the scent?

And still, Nanette sits sewing beside her window pane when it's Paris,

it's Paris, and springtimes come again.

That was Paris in spring, spring by Sarah Teesdale. I'm I'm I'm

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