In St. Germain Street

Through the street of St. Germain

March the tattered hosts of rain,

While the wind with vagrant fife

Whips their chilly ranks to life.

From the window I can see

Their ghostly banners blowing free,

As they pass to where the ships

Crowd about the wharves and slips.

There at day's end they embark

To invade the realms of dark,

And the sun comes out again

In the street of St. Germain.