The poem
Bird-watching colonels on the old sea wall, Down here at Dawlish where the slow trains crawl: Low tide lifting, on a shingle shore, Long-sunk islands from the sea once more: Red cliffs rising where the wet sands run, Gulls reflecting in the sharp spring sun; Pink-washed plaster by a sheltered patch, Ilex shadows upon velvet thatch: What interiors those names suggest! Queen of lodgings in the warm south-west....
Reprinted with the permission of John Murray (Publishers) Ltd.