COTSWOLD LOVE

By John Drinkwater

Blue skies are over Cotswold

And April snows go by,

The lasses turn their ribbons

For April’ s in the sky,

And April is the season

When Sabbath girls are dressed,

From Rodboro’ to Campden,

In all their silken best.

An ankle is a marvel

When first the buds are brown,

And not a lass but knows it

From Stow to Gloucester town.

And not a girl goes walking

Along the Cotswold lanes

But knows men’ s eyes in April

Are quicker than their brains.

It’ s little that it matters,

So long as you’ re alive,

If you’ re eighteen in April,

Or rising sixty-five,

When April comes to Amberley

With skies of April blue,

And Cotswold girls are briding

With slyly tilted shoe.