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The Isle.
By Percy Bysshe Shelley
There was a little lawny islet
By anemone and violet,
Like mosaic, paven:
And its roof was flowers and leaves
Which the summer's breath enweaves,
Where nor sun nor showers nor breeze
Pierce the pines and tallest trees,
Each a gem engraven; -
Girt by many an azure wave
With which the clouds and mountains pave
A lake's blue chasm.
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