Crept on the large white commonwealAll folk had striven to strip and peel,And the grass, like a great green witch's wheel, Unwound the toils of men.
And clover and silent thistle throve, And buds burst silently,With little care for the Thames Valley, Or what things there might be —
That away on the widening river, In the eastern plains for crownStood up in the pale purple skyOne turret of smoke like ivory;And the smoke changed and the wind went by, And the King took London Town.
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