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FALLEN FRUIT.
But the waves roll ever— Over my dead are the proud waves rolled.
III.O swift and angry sea, Surge on and whelm my soul!For the last bird flies from the barren tree,And I yearn for the sailor's dreamless goal. I will sit no more in my chamber door: O billows of ocean swift and cold, Ye shall drag me down from the rocky shore, Where my love lies mute as the songs of old!— So the waves roll ever: Over the dead are the proud waves rolled!
