BREAK, BREAK, BREAK
by: Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
- REAK, 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.
'Break, Break, Break' is reprinted
from English Poems. Ed. Edward Chauncey Baldwin. New York:
American Book Company, 1908. |
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POEMS BY ALFRED TENNYSON |
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