Down the Devonshire lane without permit or fee, a little sign vows ``THIS WAY TO THE SEA.'' To the heart's eternal ocean - faultless and slow - calm as moons, wild as storm - parting and whole.
Borning place of the rising spray where the vetch and roses hide, where the cormorant is laughing and the gulls cry -
where the sand is always singing and the bracken leans toward the evening star and the tide breathes.
And if you trust in the little sign, just at the top of the lea, the lane falls quietly away and leaves you alone with the sea.