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    Break, Break, Break - Alfred Lord Tennyson

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    poetictouch

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    Alfred Lord Tennyson - Break, Break, Break - Read by Bramwell Fletcher

    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,
    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 come back to me.