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!