Ah, the apple trees,
Blossoms in the breeze,
That we walked among,
Lying in the hay,
Games we used to play,
While the rounds were sung,
Only yesterday, when the world was young.

It isn't by chance I happen to be,
A boulevardier, the toast of Paris.
For over the noise, the talk and the smoke,
I'm good for a laugh, a drink or a jokeI walk in a room, a party or ball,
"Come sit over here" somebody will call.
"A drink for M'sieur, a drink for us all!
But how many times I stop and recall.

Ah, the apple trees,
Sunlit memories,
Where the hammock swung,
On our backs we’d lie;
Looking at the shy,
Till the stars were strung,
Only last July,
When the World Was Young.