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.