When Paris wakes up in the month of April, When the sun comes back from exile, When the softest air pours a young romance, When the spring really begins. Then here, at the gates of Paris, Runs the whole country by the dazzling love. And from the north to the midday, Florence sings and laughs, In April in Paris. In Saint-Michel, the Seine Forgets its old sorrows. In the heart of Luxembourg, the birds sing love, On a bench, Jeanne and Pierre are back. It feels so good, my friend, To give in to the envy Of a kiss that we take, that we give at the same time, In the middle of the spring festival. Then here, at the gates of Paris, Runs the whole country by the dazzling love. And from the north to the midday, Florence sings and laughs, In April in Paris. In Saint-Michel, the Seine Forgets its old sorrows.