Break, Break, Break

Break, Break, Break

O sad words, sad words, sad!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never return to 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 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 return to me.