Blue, blue is the sea to-day, 
Warmly the light 
Sleeps on St. Andrews Bay -- 
Blue, fringed with white. 

That's no December sky! 
Surely 'tis June 
Holds now her state on high, 
Queen of the noon. 

Only the tree-tops bare 
Crowning the hill, 
Clear-cut in perfect air, 
Warn us that still 

Winter, the aged chief, 
Mighty in power, 
Exiles the tender leaf, 
Exiles the flower. 

Is there a heart to-day, 
A heart that grieves 
For flowers that fade away, 
For fallen leaves? 

Oh, not in leaves or flowers 
Endures the charm 
That clothes those naked towers 
With love-light warm. 

O dear St. Andrews Bay, 
Winter or Spring 
Gives not nor takes away 
Memories that cling

All round thy girdling reefs, 
That walk thy shore, 
Memories of joys and griefs 
Ours evermore.