"They all sing love, and love is always new." He compares Paris, with its grand ladies and its grand opera, with his vineyard and his nightingales.

"Paris," he says, "has fine flowers and lawns, but she is too much of the grande dame.

She is unhappy, sleepy.
Here, a thousand hamlets laugh by the river's side.

Our skies laugh; everything is happy; everything lives.

From the month of May, when our joyous summer arrives, for six months the heavens resound with music.