Verse > Anthologies > T. H. Ward, ed. > The English Poets > Vol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
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Thomas Humphry Ward, ed.  The English Poets.  1880–1918.
Vol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
 
‘Break, break, break’
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)
 
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,        5
  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;        10
But O for the touch of a vanish’d 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        15
  Will never come back to me.
 
 
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