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FALLEN FRUIT.
I
WILD wind of the sea,
Blow on and mock my soul!
For the red fruit falls from the fading tree,
And the last wine drips from the crystal bowl.
I sit all day in my chamber door;
Over the sea the wind blows cold;
I miss the white sail by the shore,
And the merrily chanted songs of old:
But the waves roll ever—
Over my dead are the proud waves rolled!
WILD wind of the sea,Blow on and mock my soul!
For the red fruit falls from the fading tree,
And the last wine drips from the crystal bowl.
I sit all day in my chamber door;
Over the sea the wind blows cold;
I miss the white sail by the shore,
And the merrily chanted songs of old:
But the waves roll ever—
Over my dead are the proud waves rolled!
II.
O blue waves of the sea,
Roll on and mock my soul!
For the sail was rent and the helm set free,
And the sailor hurled to his dreamless goal.
I sit alone in my chamber-door:
Over the sea the wind blows cold;
Alas for the white sail on the shore,
And the merrily chanted songs of old!
O blue waves of the sea,
Roll on and mock my soul!
For the sail was rent and the helm set free,
And the sailor hurled to his dreamless goal.
I sit alone in my chamber-door:
Over the sea the wind blows cold;
Alas for the white sail on the shore,
And the merrily chanted songs of old!
