Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?

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.

Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.

Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.