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 the haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BERENICE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CREDO by WILLIAM ARTHUR DUNKERLEY AN IRISH AIRMAN FORESEES HIS DEATH by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS BARCAROLE: DE VIGNY by E. G. B. A POEM, DEDICATED TO WILLIAM LAW, PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY by ROBERT BLAIR MOSES AND THE DERVISH by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON HE WHO LOSETH HIS LIFE SHALL FIND IT by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |