Composed upon a Westminster Bridge
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 doth now, 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 the sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! and the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
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