The singer

I met a singer on the hill,

He wore a tattered cloak;

His cap was torn,

His shoes were worn,

And dreamily he spoke.

Fa la la la la la...

Fa la la la la la.

A wrinkled face, a cheery smile,

And a nobby stick had he;

His eyes were grey and far away

And changeful as the sea.

I offered him a piece of gold

And hoped that he would stay.

No word he spoke, but shook his head

And smiled and went his way.

Fa la la la la la...

La la la la la la.

I watched the singer down the hill.

My eyes went following after,

I thought I heard a fairy flute

And the sound of fairy laughter,

Fa la la la la la...

etc.