Tranquil dawns in the early east
She lightly limned to me,
And a sea as fresh as the morning breeze,
And a breeze as fresh as the sea.

It's seen in the song of the lonely loon,
This isle of which I write;
Where the morning lasts into the afternoon,
And the afternoon is night.

Where I wake to the knell of the fishing bell
Stride down to the wharf, and then
Delight in the chowder, the buoys, the boats,
And the lore of the lobstermen.

She's followed the feet of the wild moose,
She's heard and felt and seen
The birch and the pine and the eastern spruce
In the rockiest shades of green.

She's followed the maze of the trees and rocks,
Barefoot across the turf,
Through the long corridor of the forest floor
To the cold and sandy Surf

And here I did see the division in
Her personality:
A maiden with both the repose and the wrath
Of the calm, ferocious sea.

She is now on the edge of that rocky shore…
She stands with her arms to the salty air…
And as
— the
— ocean
—begins
— to
— ROAR

The whitecaps crash—
She is the crest!
Raise up the queen,
Condemn the rest!

For the wind flies through
Her eyes of blue,

And her billowing golden hair.

I left my years there, many years ago,
When I was but a child,
But still I recall that enchanted place
And her voice both clear and mild:

"Remember the island of Vinalhaven"
She calmly called to me,
As I left the mesh
Of her lochs and leas

On a sea as fresh
As the morning breeze

And a breeze as fresh as the sea.