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8
FRUIT-GATHERING
VII
Alas, I cannot stay in the house, and home has become no home to me, for the eternal Stranger calls, he is going along the road.
The sound of his footfall knocks at my breast; it pains me!
The wind is up, the sea is moaning.
I leave all my cares and doubts to follow the homeless tide, for the Stranger calls me, he is going along the road.
