Morning on the white sands,
The cool, salt, light sands!
Stroll along the tide-mark where the gulls turn and wheel;
Watch the ocean sweeping,
Crested breakers leaping,
Till your troubles count as little as the sand beneath your heel.
Noon on the dry sands,
The crowded, hot, high sands!
Bask in the sunshine till you hear the breakers call;
Dash into the white foam,
The flying, soft, bright foam,
Revel in the sparkling surf with raft and boat and ball.
Evening on the white sands,
The long, cool, moon-bright sands!
Youth's heart is turned to love, what ever else betide.
With the slow waves calling,
And long shadows falling,
The ocean seems a magic power to plight your troth beside.
First published in The Advocate, 29 March 1943
Author reference site: Austlit
See also.
The cool, salt, light sands!
Stroll along the tide-mark where the gulls turn and wheel;
Watch the ocean sweeping,
Crested breakers leaping,
Till your troubles count as little as the sand beneath your heel.
Noon on the dry sands,
The crowded, hot, high sands!
Bask in the sunshine till you hear the breakers call;
Dash into the white foam,
The flying, soft, bright foam,
Revel in the sparkling surf with raft and boat and ball.
Evening on the white sands,
The long, cool, moon-bright sands!
Youth's heart is turned to love, what ever else betide.
With the slow waves calling,
And long shadows falling,
The ocean seems a magic power to plight your troth beside.
First published in The Advocate, 29 March 1943
Author reference site: Austlit
See also.
