Skip to main content
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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 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.


n/a

  • Living
  • Nature

Poet Bio

Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Alfred, Lord Tennyson was born one of 12 children to a wealthy family in Lincolnshire, England. With poems such as In Memoriam, an elegy for a friend, and Idylls of the King, a long narrative, Tennyson became the most popular English poet of his time. Queen Victoria made him Poet Laureate in 1850. He is buried in Westminster Abbey. See More By This Poet

More By This Poet

More Poems about Living

Browse poems about Living

More Poems about Nature

Browse poems about Nature