Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
(Tennyson, 1842)
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Brise-toi sur tes rochers froids et gris, O océan !
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
(Tennyson, 1842)
