If ever there was a place of magic lore,

Where white gulls soar at twilight,

Dancing seas woo the shore,

Huddled homes hint of firelight.

2

Then there I have stood and dreamed with you,

‘Neath neat pink cottages swallowed by dusk,

Timbered panes frame cliffside view,

Through thin curled woodsmoke, a wisp of musk.

3

Mellow the sorcerer's night,

A hint of holy half-light,

Guiding us in wonder,

Down winding cobblestones,

To the harbour,

Where the surge of the sea,

Vies with the revelry,

Whispering from the sad,

Dimly-lit bar.

4

And come the morn, misty, murky,

The merest hint of mortar,

Hidden in hollows, all shades of pastel,

As liquid as the water.