Tides: A Book of Poems. Drinkwater John

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.