Alfred, Lord Tennyson(1809–1892)
Break, Break, Break
Break, Break, Break
O n t h y c o l d gray s t o n e s , O S e a !
A n d I w o u l d t h a t m y t o n g u e c o u l d u t t e r
T h e t h o u g h t s t h a t a r i s e i n m e .
O w e l l f o r t h e fisherman's b o y ,
T h a t h e s h o u t s w i t h h i s s i s t e r a t play!
O w e l l f o r t h e s a i l o r lad,
T h a t h e s i n g s i n h i s b o a t o n t h e bay!
A n d t h e s t a t e l y s h i p s g o o n
To their haven under the hill;
B u t O f o r t h e t o u c h of a v a n i s h e d h a n d ,
A n d t h e s o u n d o f a v o i c e t h a t i s still!
Break, Break, Break
A t t h e f o o t o f t h y c r a g s , O S e a !
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
1842