Break, break, break
On thy cold gray stones, 0 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 0 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, 0 Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
ALFRED LORD TENNYSON
Thy : your
Bay : part of the sea, partly surrounded by sea
Haven : shelter
Vanished : disappeared
Crag : rough mass of rock
