memory of cassis, edna st. vincent millay

do you recall how we sat by the smokily-burning
twisted odourous trunk of the olive-tree,
in the inn on the cliff, and skinned the ripe green figs,
and heard the white sirocco driving in the sea?

the thunder and the smother there where like a ship's prow
the light-house breasted the wave? how wanly through the wild spray
under our peering eyes the eye of the light looked out,
disheveled, but without dismay?

do you recall the sweet-alyssum over the ledges
crawling and the tall heather and the mushrooms under the pines,
and the deep white dust of the broad road leading outward
to a world forgotten, between the dusty almonds and the dusty vines?