Paris, how fairest thou dost appear,
With paintings weeping midst the showers so dear,
As roses bloom for summer’s warmest day,
To lost Elysian goddesses they convey.
How chill this eve, as silence deepens more,
And bells that cut through stillness seem to soar,
Noontide in Paris wounds me with its spell,
Yet in her dawning, I in healing dwell.
Oh, Paris, beauty that none can outshine,
If one should query thy allure divine,
The Seine’s own song no ebb of time can tire,
In Paris, where dreams and truth inspire.
A living poem shared by all mankind,
Wherein souls lost in love forever find.
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