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 its own sweet will;
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still.
Wordsworth.