Old Sir Faulk - Louis Fremaux, City Of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, Уильям Уолтон

Old

Sir

Faulk

Tall as a stork

Before the honeyed fruits of dawn were ripe, would walk

And stalk with a gun

The reynard-colored sun

Among the pheasant-feathered corn the unicorn has torn, forlorn the

Smock-faced sheep

Sit

And

Sleep

Periwigged as William and Mary, weep…

'Sally, Mary, Mattie, what’s the matter, why cry?'

The huntsman and the reynard-colored sun and I sigh

'Oh, the nursery-maid Meg

With a leg like a peg

Chased the feathered dreams like hens, and when they laid an egg In the

sheepskin

Meadows

Where

The serene King James would steer

Horse and hounds, then he

From the shade of a tree

Picked it up as spoil to boil 'for nursery tea' said the mourners

In the

Corn, towers strain

Feathered tall as a crane

And whistling down the feathered rain, old Noah goes again--

An old dull mome

With a head like a pome

Seeing the world as a bare egg

Laid by the feathered air: Meg

Would be three of these

For the nursery teas

Of Japhet, Shem and Ham;

she gave it

Underneath the trees

Where the boiling

Water

Hissed

Like the goose-king's feathered daughter--kissed

Pot and pan and copper kettle

Put upon their proper mettle

Lest the flood begin again through these!