COTSWOLD LOVE
Blue skies are over CotswoldAnd April snows go by,The lasses turn their ribbonsFor April’s in the sky,And April is the seasonWhen Sabbath girls are dressed,From Rodboro’ to Campden,In all their silken best.An ankle is a marvelWhen first the buds are brown,And not a lass but knows itFrom Stow to Gloucester town.And not a girl goes walkingAlong the Cotswold lanesBut knows men’s eyes in AprilAre 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 AmberleyWith skies of April blue,And Cotswold girls are bridingWith slyly tilted shoe.
Blue skies are over CotswoldAnd April snows go by,The lasses turn their ribbonsFor April’s in the sky,And April is the seasonWhen Sabbath girls are dressed,From Rodboro’ to Campden,In all their silken best.An ankle is a marvelWhen first the buds are brown,And not a lass but knows itFrom Stow to Gloucester town.And not a girl goes walkingAlong the Cotswold lanesBut knows men’s eyes in AprilAre 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 AmberleyWith skies of April blue,And Cotswold girls are bridingWith slyly tilted shoe.
Blue skies are over CotswoldAnd April snows go by,The lasses turn their ribbonsFor April’s in the sky,And April is the seasonWhen Sabbath girls are dressed,From Rodboro’ to Campden,In all their silken best.
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 marvelWhen first the buds are brown,And not a lass but knows itFrom Stow to Gloucester town.And not a girl goes walkingAlong the Cotswold lanesBut knows men’s eyes in AprilAre quicker than their brains.
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 AmberleyWith skies of April blue,And Cotswold girls are bridingWith slyly tilted shoe.
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.