Break, break, break
2 On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
3And I would that my tongue could utter
4 The thoughts that arise in me.
5O, well for the fisherman's boy,
6 That he shouts with his sister at play!
7O, well for the sailor lad,
8 That he sings in his boat on the bay!
9And the stately ships go on
10 To their haven under the hill;
11But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
12 And the sound of a voice that is still!
13Break, break, break
14 At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
15But the tender grace of a day that is dead
16 Will never come back to me.
1] "Made in a Lincolnshire lane at five o'clock in the morning, between blossoming hedges" (Tennyson). It is in memory of the poet's friend, Arthur Hallam, who died in 1833. Back to Line