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.