Place was grudged to the silver-gray fume-weed
That clung to the path,
And dark rosemary ever a-dying
That, 'spite the wind's wrath,
So loves the salt rock's face to seaward,
And lentisks as stanch
To the stone where they root and bear berries,
And ... what shows a branch
Coral-colored, transparent, with circlets
Of pale seagreen leaves;