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 …
William Wordsworth - composed this sonnet about London while standing on the Westminster Bridge in 1802.
Here is what Eleanor Roosevelt wrote in her My Day column on September 14, 1942
Yesterday, we were out of doors all day, but it was not until morning that I woke early enough to have the full benefit of the early morning birds' serenade. One rather young one perched on the rail near me and repeated over and over again what seemed like a musical call. He cocked his head from side to side and his bright little eyes twinkled with each call.
The air is still soft, but cool in the evenings and early mornings. When the sun shines, the pool is still a pleasant place, but across the pond from where I sit, my swamp maple is completely red and I know that in another two weeks the autumn colors will be everywhere.
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