Poems (Jones)/Fallen Fruits

by Amanda Theodosia Jones

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!

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!
     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!