Break, Break, Break
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
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 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.
In a message dated 1/23/2007 8:56:51 PM Eastern Standard Time,
[log in to unmask] writes:
>> How, by the way, would you scan this line from Lear? "Break, break,
>> break,
>> break, break!"
> Oh, man, I must be tired. Is that line from Lear? I can't find it online
> when I check.
>
> jd
I think you're thinking of "Never, never, never, never, never" -- break
from "break, break, break, / On your cold gray stones, oh sea"? [K, that's
not it, but something like. Whitman?]
Larissa Shmailo_ [log in to unmask] (mailto:[log in to unmask])
http//:larissashmailo.blogspot.com
Listen to The No-Net World
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