"Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones,……" — Alfred Lord Tennyson

"Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, and the sound of a voice that is still"

Alfred Lord Tennyson

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