Break, Break, Break

[Beverly S]

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.

This poem was written by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. It was published in 1842. Tennyson wrote this poem near Bristol. It is addressing the sea directly as he mourns the death of his friend Authur Henry Hallam in 1833.

[blazeofglory]

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.

This poem was written by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. It was published in 1842. Tennyson wrote this poem near Bristol. It is addressing the sea directly as he mourns the death of his friend Authur Henry Hallam in 1833.

This is indeed a sweet poem, and of course poetry in the romantic era is highly appealing to me and particularly Blake, Wordsworth, Shelley and the rest of genres always appeal to me. They were matchless poets.

When we speak of poems there must be some elements of nature, and nowadays poems do not have these contents. The depth and intensity I find in them is little on the decline now.