Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, With fold to


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شعری از لرد آلفرد تنیسون Break, break, break,          On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter


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Is sinking down in its tranquility; The gentleness of heaven broods o’er the Sea; Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with


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