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The Name

 What is my name to you? 'T will die:
a wave that has but rolled to reach
with a lone splash a distant beach;
or in the timbered night a cry .
'T will leave a lifeless trace among names on your tablets: the design of an entangled gravestone line in an unfathomable tongue.
What is it then? A long-dead past, lost in the rush of madder dreams, upon your soul it will not cast Mnemosyne's pure tender beams.
But if some sorrow comes to you, utter my name with sighs, and tell the silence: "Memory is true - there beats a heart wherein I dwell.

Poem by Alexander Pushkin
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