– William Wordsworth

          EARTH has not anything to show 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 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!