Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O, well for the fisherman’s boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
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!
Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
(Lord Alfred Tennyson)
More Poetry from Lord Alfred Tennyson:
Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems based on Topics: Mind- Cradle Song (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- Ask Me No More (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- Tithonus (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- And ask ye why these sad tears stream? (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- You Ask Me, Why, Tho' Ill at Ease (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- In Memoriam 131: O Living Will That Shalt Endure (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)