As used by bards for their afflatus,
Recovered from the spacious time
Ere yet a triple coat of grime
Had blocked our breathing-apparatus.
Swept clean of smuts and chimney-stacks
Each roof becomes a blooming garden,
And there, reclining on its backs,
All day the jocund public slacks
As in the thymy glades of Arden.
On Thames's bosom, crystal-clear,