St Ives

Ash and dust were blown from me by those
Vast and simple packs and bands of colour:
Nutritious, licorous, mackerel-tinted waves,
A solid lapis sky, and platinum sand
That made a massy drawstring purse in the palm.
Dashing and surfing rays were missing nothing,
Lighting every door and stone and corner
To plain and storybook equality,
And mildness I remember as a child,
A nobody, before such adult forces.