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Poem by Thomas Lovell Beddoes Song from the Waters Act I, scene iv, lines 259-72 The swallow leaves her nest, The soul my weary breast; But therefore let the rain On my grave Fall pure; for why complain Since both will come again O'er the wave. The wind dead leaves and snow Doth hurry to and fro; And, once, a day shall break O'er the wave, When a storm of ghosts shall shake The dead, until they wake In the grave. Thomas Lovell Beddoes Thomas Lovell Beddoes's other poems:
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