An island, a place where man lives not with nature,
Claiming he lives alongside it when ’tis enslaved,
But instead a place where men live in nature.
Around them the trees grow free to the shore,
And the squirrels and birds roam free.
By the coast are the docks and the tall-growing pines,
Shuttles of people to rest of the sity,
And inside is Baba Yaga’s belfry,
Old farmhouses, and the wilderness grows –
The Djurgården – a place like none I know.
I’ll admit, this image is a little idealised. But it’s a poem. It’s still a lovely place – perhaps my favourite in Stockholm. Perhaps. There are a lot of beautiful places in Stockholm. The collection of old buildings at Skansen is wonderful to an historian – a very rare collection indeed.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic