Saturday, June 18, 2011

Break, Break, Break.....By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

A sad poem, recently read at the funeral of somebody who was very much loved by us and who was taken much too early

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,
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 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
Will never come back to me.

1 comment:

  1. Beautiful poem. The rhyme seems gentle until its blow at the end. Thanks for sharing this.

    Please let me know your thoughts on my poems at