Madison Cawein

A Bit Of Coast

   One tree, storm-twisted, like an evil hag,
   The sea-wind in its hair, beside a path
   Waves frantic arms, as if in wild-witch wrath
   At all the world. Gigantic, grey as slag,
   Great boulders shoulder through the hills, or crag
   The coast with danger, monster-like, that lifts
   Huge granite, round which wheel the gulls and swifts,
   And at whose base the rotting sea-weeds drag.
   Inward the hills are wooded; valley-cleft;
   Tangled with berries; vistaed dark with pines;
   At whose far end, as ’twere within a frame,
   Some trail of water that the ocean left
   Gleams like a painting where one white sail shines,
   Lit with the sunset’s poppy-coloured flame.
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