Prose and Poetry : Break, Break, Break

Education English | Prose and Poetry : Break, Break, Break | 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 said,
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 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
Taken From Alfred Tennyson (Selected Poetry) , 1951
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