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 arise in me,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 thycrags,O sea!But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
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