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.
           The soft feet of the blessed go
     In the soft western vales,
     The road the silent saints accord,
     The road from Heaven to Hereford,
     Where the apple wood of Hereford
     Goes all the way to Wales.