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break, break, break - frederick septimus kelly lyrics

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break, break, break
on thy cold grey 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

- frederick septimus kelly lyrics

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