Thread: Song of the day...

Scotch Rhapsody "Do not take a bath in Jordan, Gordon“ text: Edith Sitwell

Do not take a bath in Jordan Gordon, On the holy Sabbath, on the peaceful day! Said the huntsman, playing on his old bagpipe, Boring to death the pheasant and the snipe - Boring the ptarmigan and grouse for fun - Boring them worse than a nine-bore gun. Till the flaxen leaves where the prunes are ripe, Heard the tartan wind a-droning through the pipe,

And they, heard Macpherson say: "Where do the waves go; What hotels Hide their bustles and their gay ombrelles? And would there be room for me? - Would there be room, Would there be room for me?" There is a hotel at Ostend Cold as the wind, without an end, Haunted by ghostly poor relations Of Bostonian conversations (Like bagpipes rotting through the walls.) And there the pearl-ropes fall like shawls With a noise like marine waterfalls.

And "Another little drink wouldn't do us any harm" Pierces through the sabbatical calm. And that is the place for me! So do not take a bath in Jordan, Gordon, On the holy Sabbath on the peaceful day- Or you'll never go to heaven, Gordon Macpherson, And speaking purely as a private person That is the place - that is the place - that is the place for me!

Old Sir Faulk 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!

Gene Pitney -- Only Love Can Break a Heart

Tony Bennett, k.d. lang - Blue Velvet (from Duets II: The Great Performances)