Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
by William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)
Earth hasd not anything to show me 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 a 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!
The Great Frost or The art of walking the streets of London
by John Gay (1685 - 1732)
O roving muse, recall that wonderous year,
When winter reigned in bleak Britannia's air;
When hoary Thames, with frosted osiers crowned,
Was three long moons in icy fetters bound.
The waterman, forlorn along the shore,
Pensive reclines upon his useless oar,
Sees harnessed steeds desert the stony town,
And wander roads unstable, not their own;
Wheels o'er the hardened waters smoothly glide,
And rase with whitenened tracks the slippery tide.
Here the fat cook piles high the blazing fire,
And scarce the spit can turn the steer entire.
Booths sudden hide the Thames, long streets appear,
And numerous games proclaim the crowded fair.
I am a writer, artist, and incurable Anglophile! Thank you for reading my blog, and please feel free to join my discussions about Britain. I look forward to hearing your comments and stories!