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Alfred Austin - An April Fool
Work rating: Low

I sallied afield when the bud first swells,
 And the sun first slanteth hotly,
 And I came on a yokel in cap and bells,
 And a suit of saffron motley.

 He was squat on a bank where a self—taught stream,
 Fingering flint and pebble,
 Was playing in tune to the yaffel`s scream,
 And the shake of the throstle`s treble.

 ``Now, who may you be?`` I asked, ``and where
 Do you look for your meals and pillow?``
 ``My roof,`` he said, ``is the spacious air,
 And my curtain the waving willow.

 ``My meal is a shive of the miller`s loaf,
 And hunger the grace that blesses:
 `Tis banquet enough for a village oaf,
 With a handful of fresh green cresses.

 ``A plague on your feasts where the dish goes round,
 Though I know where the truffles burrow,
 And the plover`s eggs may, in fours, be found,
 In the folds of the pleated furrow.

 ``And my name? O, I am an April Fool,
 So yclept in the hamlet yonder;
 For when old and young are at work or school,
 I sit on a stile and ponder.

 ``I gather the yellow weasel—snout,
 As I wander the woods at random,
 Or I stoop stone—still, and tickle the trout,
 And at times, for a lark, I land `em.

 ``But I flick them back ere they gape and pant,
 After gazing at gill and speckle.
 For why should I keep what I do not want,
 Who can fish without hook or heckle?

  ``Yes, I am an April Fool: confessed!
 And my pate grows not wise for scratching;
 But I know where the kingfisher drills his nest,
 And the long—tailed tits are hatching.``

 Then he leaped to his feet, and he shook his bells,
 And they jangled all together,
 As blithe as the chime that sinks and swells
 For the joy of a nuptial tether.

 And, as they chimed, in the covert near
 Where ripens the juicy whortle,
 The rustling whisper reached my ear
 Of a loitering maiden`s kirtle.

 Whereat he laughed: ``I`m an April Fool,
 But am jocund withal and jolly,
 So long as I have this realm to rule,
 And a lass to love my folly.

 ``Go and woo, where the deftly fair parade,
 The smiles of a fine court lady;
 But I will cuddle my rustic maid,
 In the pheasant—drives husht and shady.

 ``Her cheek is as creamy as milk in June,
 And the winds nor chap nor warp it;
 We dance, with the blackbird to give the tune,
 And with primroses for carpet.

 ``Her quick—flashing fingers knit the hose
 For her little feet neat and nimble;
 Her kiss is as sweet as a half—shut rose,
 And her laugh like a silver cymbal.

 ``She never asks how my fortunes fare,
 Nor wonders how full my purse is;
 She sits on my knee, and she strokes my hair,
 And I tell her my wildwood verses.

 ``She has not a gem she can call her own,
 But I rest on a sheepfold hurdle,
 And, out of the daffodils newly blown,
 Entwine her a golden girdle.

 ``And soon I shall have for my nut—sweet girl,
 When the May tree is adorning
 Its weather—tanned skin with rows of pearl,
 A new necklace, night and morning.

 ``When shortly we catch the cuckoo`s call,
 We shall clap our hands to hear him;
 For let whom they may his gibes appal,
 This April Fool don`t fear him.``

 Then a wind—cloud, hued like a ringdove`s neck,
 Made the rain run helter—skelter;
 The keen drops pattered on bank and beck,
 And I crouched in the ditch for shelter.

 But he whistled his love, and he waved his cap,
 And the bells all rang together;
 ``Just fancy!`` he cried, ``to care one rap
 For the whims of wind or weather.

 ``Through all the seasons I keep my youth,
 Which is more than you town—folk do, sir.
 Now, which is the April Fool, in sooth?
 Do you think it is I,—or you, sir?``

 Then the rain ceased slashing on branch and pool,
 And swift came the sunshine, after;
 And the thrush and the yaffel screamed, ``April Fool!``
 And the covert rang with laughter.
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