The Sanctuary

A little green plot

Athwart the polyglot:

A leafy place

In a London square,

And the song of a thrush,

At evening there,

Is a joy the town equals not.

Around anxious haste

After pleasure and gain;

Manpower run to waste

In want, error and pain:

But serenely breathes Nature,

Perennially, free,

In this island sanctuary

Of flower, bird and tree