On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble; His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves; The gale, it plies the saplings double, And thick on Severn snow the leaves. 'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger When Uricon 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 stare: The blood that warms an English yeoman, The thoughts that hurt him, they were there. There, like the wind through woods in riot, Through him the gale of life blew high The tree of man was never quiet: Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I. The gale, it plies the saplings double, It blows so hard, 'twill soon be gone: To-day the Roman and his trouble Are ashes under Uricon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY: 9. THE AUTUMNAL [BEAUTY] by JOHN DONNE THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY THE BABYLONIAN HORDES by ISAAC ROSENBERG INVITED GUESTS by FRANCES EKIN ALLISON THE AUTHOR'S PARTING ADDRESS TO THE MUSE by BERNARD BARTON THE CAMP-FOLLOWER by MAXWELL BODENHEIM OUR PRISONERS OF WAR IN GERMANY by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |