Vaughan Williams: On Wenlock Edge: On Wenlock Edge

On Wenlock Edge, the wood's in trouble

His forest fleece the reekin heaves

The gale, it plies the saplings double

And thick on Severn snow the leaves

'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger

When Uric on 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

Today the Roman and his trouble

Are ashes under Uric on