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！

William Wordsworth