Earth hath 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 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!
‘Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802’ William Wordsworth
In Melbourne’s case, not completely still. It seems that no matter the time there will always be a man in a business suit dragging along a case on wheels or a shift worker on their way home, bundled up in a jacket, chin jutted into chest, perhaps so tired that the act of putting one foot in front of the other is positively herculean.
As you can see above, at that time yesterday, Little Lonsdale Street was tattooed by chalk; scrawled over and tagged by children from the Children’s Festival. Those cheery pastels were gone by mid-morning, thanks to street sweepers and hoses, like they were never there. I’m glad I got the shot (for we didn’t make the festival in the end); such delights often prove to be temporal.
