by Robert Crawford
A little island in the river
There is, round which the breezes quiver
Like sweet birds that would stay
A moment on their way,
So green it is with leaves and grass,
And chequered by the clouds that pass
Far over in the blue above:
As sweet with flowers as life with love,
And breathing of a mood
That, like a wild bird in the city's din,
Though far from all its kith and kin,
Sustains its solitude.
Last updated January 14, 2019