On Kennack Sands the sun
Shines, and the fresh wind blows,
Moulding pale banks anew,
Where the sea--holly grows.
Waters softly blue
And exquisitely clear
Meet the o'er--arching sky;
O'er them the breezes run.
There may'st thou idly lie,
And still find new delights,
Watching the gulls' white flights
Above that lonely place;
Listen, nor ever hear
A single human sound
To spoil the free, profound,
Aerial quietness.
But when thou'rt gone, the night
On Kennack comes; and soon,
Lovely beyond dreams,
Arises the round moon;
In whose trembling light
The rough splendour gleams
Of the crested sea.
Ah, could'st thou there then be!
But mortal ears can hear not
What those pale sands hear then;
Sounds not of mortal birth,
Laughter, and dance, and mirth,
Of the golden--haired sea--fairies,
Mermaidens and mermen.