The windows glow with many jewels, with rubies
fire-entangled,
And glowing bits of emerald, and diamonds like
the dew—
But, Paris, can you quite forget the bodies lying
mangled
Beneath the snow on Flanders fields—your lost
who call to you?).

The windows of each little shop are gay with gem-
like laughter,
With rings to fit milady's hand, and drops to deck
her ear;
(But, Paris, can you quite forget Verdun, and Ypres,
and—after?
And, far beneath the sounds of mirth, one
wonders what you hear.)

The windows glow with countless jewels, the shop-
girls stop to wonder,
The little shopgirls who are still, so many, dressed
in black—
(But, oh, the saddened hearts of them no doubt are
lying under
Some sandy stretch along the Marne, where grim
defeat turned back!)

The windows gleam enticingly, and eyes light up to
see them,
For Paris thrills to loveliness, as Paris always
thrilled—
(Oh, God of beauty, touch the lives that war has
crushed, and free them
From broken dreams, an empty faith, and hopes
forever stilled!)