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OUR FAMILIAR SONGS |
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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 ! Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! |
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. 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! |
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