Break, Break, Break

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Alfred Lord Tennyson portrait

1809 to 1892

Poem Image
Track 1

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But the tender grace of a day that is dead
That he shouts with his sister at play!
Break, break, break,
And the stately ships go on
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
Will never come back to me.
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
To their haven under the hill;
O, well for the sailor lad,
And I would that my tongue could utter
And the sound of a voice that is still!
The thoughts that arise in me.
O, well for the fisherman's boy,

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Poet portrait