ROMANCE

White-caps hurry to meet the shore

An hundred fathoms down.

Gray sails are shimmering on the wind

Far out from Lynmouth town.

High crags above us are whispering keen,

The heather and the ling

Laugh to the sky as driven by

The wild gulls cry or cling.

And, where the far sun like a god

Scatters the mist, lies Shore.

Is it Romance's magic realm

Spring reigns forever o'er?

Romance that our morning hearts could see

Across the darkest foam?

Then do we know it well, my love,

Because it is our Home.