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Up on the Ikneild Way Where magic has ever been, where white chalk glows, And legend grows, where grass is brightest green, The ghostly smith plies his trade In mysterious lunar scene. Along the old Ridgeway Arthur fought the fight Five hundred years from Christ, As Saxons saw tile light, The empty fiends atop the dawns Rolled flat by round table knight, And Alfred, of the burnt cake fame. Lived and died within eye sight. South of winding arterial B White top Dragon Hill stands, This naked stump, a flattened lump, Where George banished from these lands The last of fiery breathing lizard, With shining sword in metalled hands, On the slope where the White Horse lies, Where plateau gives way to plough, Unlikely modern wheeled cart In position points its bow At cumulus dark overhead, And Merlin and his apprentice make Magic with their wand to slake , The creaking earth and silent bough. for Kate Bush |