Willia Wordsworth
Earth has not anythg to show ore fair:
Dull would he be of soul who uld pass by
A sight so touchgits ajesty:
This City now doth, like a garnt, wear
The beauty of the ; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, dos, theatres, and teples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittergthe sokeless air.
Never did sun ore beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Neer saw I, never felt, a cal so deep!
The river glideth at his ow will:
Dear God!The very hoes see asleep;
And all that ighty heart is lyg still!