William Wordsworth - Composed Upon Westminster Bridge ("Earth has not anything to show more fair")
A reading of one of the most famous poems by English Romantic poet William Wordsworth.
Written in the form of a Petrarchan sonnet, it describes the city of London very early in the morning on a Summer day in 1802, when Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy were leaving to travel to France. The sight of London and the Thames devoid of the usual crowds, traffic and smoke touched Wordsworth deeply ("Earth has not anything to show more fair"), and he was amazed at the tranquillity of the usually chaotic city ("And all that mighty heart is lying still").
The poem, sometimes referred to as "Lines Composed Upon Westminster Bridge", was first published in the collection "Poems, in Two Volumes" in 1807. In early editions, the date of composition was erroneously given as September 3 1802, but thanks to an entry in Dorothy Wordsworth's journal, we know that the sonnet was actually written on July 31 1802, and the date was corrected in later editions.
Along with the audio of my poetry reading of "Composed Upon Westminster Bridge", the text of the poem is also provided on screen.
Featured images are free to use under the Creative Commons Zero (CC0) License.
First and second images in order of appearance are cropped and resized versions of images by David Mark from Pixabay (https://pixabay.com/users/12019-12019/).
Third image in order of appearance is a resized version of an image by Albrecht Fietz from Pixabay (https://pixabay.com/users/fietzfotos-....
"Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802" by W. Wordsworth
Earth has not any thing 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 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! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!