On Wenlock Edge: On Wenlock Edge

And when Knock edge the woods in trouble

His furthest trees the reeking hips

The gang it plies the saplings double

And thick on seven snow the lips

'T would blow like this through hard and hunger

When Hurrican the city stood

'Tis the old wind in the old anger

But then it threshed another wood

Then 'twas before my time

The Roman at yonder heaving hill would stand

The blood that warms an English yeoman

The hearts that hurt him they were there

There like the wind through woods in riot

Through him the gay of life pined

The tree of man was never quiet

And 'twas the Roman without his hide

The gang it plies the saplings double

It blows so hard 'twill soon be gone

Today the Roman and his trouble

Are ashes under Hurrican