Poems — A Cider Song

All that I loved and hated, All that I shunned and knew, Clears in broad battle lightning, Where they, and I, and you, Run high the barricade that breaks The barriers of the street, And shout to them that shrink within, The Prisoners of the Fleet.

A CIDER SONG

_To J. S.

M.

_ EXTRACT FROM A ROMANCE WHICH IS NOT YET

WRITTEN AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL BE.

The wine they drink in Paradise They make in Haute Lorraine;

God brought it burning from the sod To be a sign and signal rod That they that drink the blood of God Shall never thirst again.

The wine they praise in Paradise They make in Ponterey, The purple wine of Paradise, But we have better at the price;

It's wine they praise in Paradise, It's cider that they pray.

The wine they want in Paradise They find in Plodder's End, The apple wine of Hereford, Of Hafod Hill and Hereford, Where woods went down to Hereford, And there I had a friend.