Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the way,

Is a sleepy blue laguna which widens to a bay,

And there’s the Blessed City—so the sailors say—

The Golden City of St. Mary.

It’s built of fair marble—white—without a stain,

And in the cool twilight when the sea-winds wane

The bells chime faintly, like a soft, warm rain,

In the Golden City of St. Mary.

Among the green palm-trees where the fire-flies shine,

Are the white tavern tables where the gallants dine,

Singing slow Spanish songs like old mulled wine,

In the Golden City of St. Mary.

Oh I’ll be shipping sunset-wards and westward-ho

Through the green toppling combers a-shattering into snow,

Till I come to quiet moorings and a watch below,

In the Golden City of St. Mary.