Earth hasd not anything to show me more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning:
silent, bare,Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields and to the sky;
ALl bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did a sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock or hill;
Ne`er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)
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