Cap D’Antibes

The storm is over, and the land has forgotten the storm; the trees are still.
Under this sun the rain dries quickly.
Cones from the sea-pines cover the ground again
Where yesterday for my fire I gathered all in sight;
But the leaves are meek.  The smell of the small alyssum that grows wild here
Is in the air. It is a childish morning.
More sea than land am I; my sulky mind, whipped high by tem- pest in the night, is not so soon appeased.
Into my occupations with dull roar
It washes,
It recedes.
Even as at my side in the calm day the disturbed Mediterranean
Lurches with heavy swell against the bird-twittering shore.