There are curious isles in the River of Sleep, <br />Curious isles without number. <br />We'll visit them all as we leisurely creep <br />Down the winding stream whose current is deep, <br />In our beautiful barge of Slumber. <br /> <br />The very first isle in this wonderful stream <br />Quite close to the shore is lying, <br />And after a supper of cakes and cream <br />We come to the Night-Mare-Isle with a scream, <br />And hurry away from it crying. <br /> <br />And next is the Island-of-Lullaby, <br />And every one there rejoices. <br />The winds are only a perfumed sigh, <br />And the birds that sing in the treetops try <br />To imitate Mothers' voices. <br /> <br />A little beyond is the Isle-of-Dreams; <br />Oh, that is the place to be straying. <br />Everything there is just as it seems; <br />Dolls are real and sunshine gleams, <br />And no one calls us from playing. <br /> <br />And then we come to the drollest isle, <br />And the funniest sounds come pouring <br />Down from its borderlands once in a while, <br />And we lean o'er our barge and listen and smile; <br />For that is the Isle-of-Snoring. <br /> <br />And the very last isle in the River of Sleep <br />Is the sunshiny Isle-of-Waking. <br />We see it first with our eyes a-peep, <br />And we give a yawn-then away we leap, <br />The barge of Slumber forsaking.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-river-of-sleep/
