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！