Her name is Marie, his name is Pierre They gaze at a garden so bleak and so bare A garden that once was so lovely and fair And he sighs as he dries her tear-dimmed eyes, "Don't cry, cherie, Your garden will bloom once more The fleur-de-lis will rise again And smile up to the skies again Let's try, cherie, To make our garden lovelier than before Don't cry, cherie, After all, our hearts are free, If I'll have you and you'll have me Our garden will bloom once more...!"