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Canto XI

Calm is the morn without a sound,    Calm as to suit a calmer grief,    And only thro' the faded leaf The chestnut pattering to the ground:

Calm and deep peace on this high wold,    And on these dews that drench the furze,    And all the silvery gossamers That twinkle into green and gold:

Calm and still light on yon great plain    That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,    And crowded farms and lessening towers, To mingle with the bounding main:

Calm and deep peace in this wide air,    These leaves that redden to the fall;    And in my heart, if calm at all, If any calm, a calm despair:

Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,    And waves that sway themselves in rest,    And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep.

-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto XI

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