She womanly lay like the lay of the land. The land around Wheely Down. And every curve was a high high hill. To hang above the town. From Holland they came to make the maps. And they had made her well. For the rivers danced all across the green. And the pinewood sweet did smell. As far as ever a man can see. It yields him more and more. And every house he washes it white. And he covers it all with straw. Except for the fool who makes his home. Upon the flooded ground. And the still on the tide is a glass to the eyes. That stare out of Wheely Down. All things must change within the earth. The moving and the lame.. For the worms will rot the miller’s wheel. And the rats will eat the grain.. And the armies of deliverance. Are run into the ground. And the kestrel turns in the empty skies. On high over Wheely Down