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,

In the clatter of the train
Is a promise brisk and bright.
I shall see my love again!

I am tired and fagged and fain;
But I feel a still delight
In the clatter of the train,

Hurry-hurrying on amain
Through the moonshine thin and white —
I shall see my love again!

Many noisy miles remain;
But a sympathetic sprite
In the clatter of the train.

Hammers cheerful: — that the strain
Once concluded and the fight,
I shall see my love again.

Yes, the overword is plain, —

On his Lute .

T HE line of Atreus will I sing;
To Cadmus will I tune the string:
But, as from string to string I move,
My lute will only sound of Love .

The cords I change through every screw,
And model the whole lute anew.
Once more, in song, my voice I raise,
And, Hercules , thy toils I praise:
My lute does still my voice deny,
And in the tones of love reply.

Ye heroes then, at once farewel:
Loves only echo from my shell.

My love to me is always kind:
She neither storms, nor is she pined;
She does not plead with tears or sighs,
But gentle words and soft replies —
Good earnest of the thought behind.

They say the little god is blind,
They do not count him quite too wise;
Yet he, somehow, could bring and bind
My love to me.

And sweetest nut hath sourest rind?
It may be so; but she I prize
Is even lovelier in mine eyes
Than good and gracious to my mind.
I bless the fortune that consigned
My love to me.

This Posture, and these Tears, that Heav'n might move,
In vain I use in Favour of my Love:
And while thus prostrate at her Feet I lye,
Like some fair Rock she stands, that tow'ring high,
Seems deaf to those sad Murmurs, which below
The plaintive Waters utter, as they flow.

We love in youth, and plight our vows
To love till life departs;
Forgetful of the flight of time,
The change of loving hearts.

To-day departs, to-morrow comes,
Nor finds a weed away;
But no to-morrow finds a man
The man he was to-day.

Then weep no more when love decays,
For even hate is vain; —
Since every heart that hates to-day,
To-morrow loves again.

With my hart my loue was nesled
 into the sonne of happynesse;
ffrom my loue my liffe was rested
 into a world of heauinesse;
O lett my loue my liffe remaine,
since I loue not where I wold.

Darksome distance doth devyde vs,
 ffarr ffrom thee I must remaine;
dismall planetts still doth guide vs,
 ffearing wee shold meete againe;
but ffroward ffortune once remoued,
then will I liue where I wold.

Iff I send them, doe not suspect mee;
 but if I come, then am I seene;
O let thy wisdome soe direct mee

The need to love that all the stars obey
Entered my heart and banished all beside.
Bare were the gardens where I used to stray;
Faded the flowers that one time satisfied.

Before the beauty of the west on fire,
The moonlit hills from cloister-casements viewed,
Cloud-like arose the image of desire,
And cast out peace and maddened solitude.

I sought the City and the hopes iTheld:
With smoke and brooding vapors intercurled,
As the thick roofs and walls close-paralleled
Shut out the fair horizons of the world—

Though o'er the board the constellations shine,
Austere the feast for Time's retainers spread, —
Laughter the salt of life, and love the wine,
Sleep the sweet herbs, and toil the gritty bread.

I sat and read Anacreon.
Moved by the gay, delicious measure
I mused that lips were made for love,
And love to charm a poet's leisure.

And as I mused a maid came by
With something in her look that caught me.
Forgotten was Anacreon's line,
But not the lesson he had taught me.