Dawn falls fair on the grey walls there confronting dawn,
⁠on the low green lea,
Lone and sweet as for fairies' feet held sacred, silent and
⁠strange and free,
Wild and wet with its rills; but yet more fair falls dawn
⁠on the fairer sea.

Eastward, round by the high green bound of hills that
⁠fold the remote fields in,
Strive and shine on the low sea-line fleet waves and
⁠beams when the days begin;
Westward glow, when the days burn low, the sun that
⁠yields and the stars that win.

Rose-red eve on the seas that heave sinks fair as dawn
⁠when the first ray peers;
Winds are glancing from sunbright Lancing to Shoreham,
⁠crowned with the grace of years;
Shoreham, clad with the sunset, glad and grave with glory
⁠that death reveres.