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