Earth has not any thing 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!





