Earth has not anything to show more fair：

　　Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

　　A sight so touching¹ in its majesty²：

　　This City now doth， like a garment， wear

　　The beauty of the morning； silent， bare，

　　Ships， towers， domes³， theatres， and temples lie

　　Open unto the fields， and to the sky；

　　All bright and glittering⁴ 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 mighty⁵ heart is lying still！