In Paris, I love you. In you, I love your Paris. I like your flying view. I hope we can be merry. O beauty, fair and smart! Our feelings are two fountains. This hill is not Montmartre. The sky can kiss the mountains. There's no Palais-Royal and no lycée, in essence. Comparable? And why? Champs-Élysées? No presence. And please, reveal yourself to me, and truly bless me! Repeat what you now say in English when embracing! O nightingales, sing, win! Play, wind, your hair, and bonnet! I gave your “C'est la vie” to my first wreath of sonnets. This luck now paints our worlds. The other texts are Russian. There are a few French words. But we have our hot passion, which is our way of love, with longed-for Cupid's weather. I like Mathieu with Piaf and Aznavour together. No clothing! Bodies, speak! Be snappy; sometimes sappy, to come to our true peak, to make us glad and happy! | 
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