THE FECKENHAM MEN

The jolly men at Feckenham

Don’ t count their goods as common men,

Their heads are full of silly dreams

From half-past ten to half-past ten,

They’ ll tell you why the stars are bright,

And some sheep black and some sheep white.

The jolly men at Feckenham

Draw wages of the sun and rain,

And count as good as golden coin

The blossoms on the window-pane,

And Lord! they love a sinewy tale

Told over pots of foaming ale.

Now here’ s a tale of Feckenham

Told to me by a Feckenham man,

Who, being only eighty years,

Ran always when the red fox ran,

And looked upon the earth with eyes

As quiet as unclouded skies.

These jolly men of Feckenham

One day when summer strode in power

Went down, it seems, among their lands

And saw their bean fields all in flower —

“Wheat-ricks,” they said, “be good to see;

What would a rick of blossoms be?”

So straight they brought the sickles out

And worked all day till day was done,

And builded them a good square rick

Of scented bloom beneath the sun.

And was not this I tell to you

A fiery-hearted thing to do?