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.