The Thames below Westminster
1871
This week I'll be memorizing "Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802" by William Wordsworth. Here we're invited to observe a beautiful, peaceful, blissful moment that, in its description and stillness, has always felt like a painting or photograph to me--hence the Monet, for me the ideal accompaniment. And though Monet's painting portrays a little more activity than Wordsworth's sonnet, it nevertheless shares a tranquil quality and the same lovely subject matter. If you're not familiar with Wordsworth, he was an English poet of the Romantic era and lived from April 1770 – April 1850.
If you're new to the blog, please check out the first Mnemosyne Post to see what this project is all about. And please keep suggesting titles! I always learn the most from the ones I would have never thought to select myself.
Have a great week, everyone!Wishing you many moments like Wordsworth's on Westminster--
Have a great week, everyone!Wishing you many moments like Wordsworth's on Westminster--
Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
Earth 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 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 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!
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 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!
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