A Week. The Sea. A Poem.

Seashore

It has been a busy week; there has been very little time to think and none for blogging. So yay for soul-restoring evening seaside strolls. Where ever or when ever I hear the sound of water breaking on rock, be it as a crashing crescendo or a miniscule murmur I always think of a poem I love; “Break, Break, Break” 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 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.

Happy Weekend – talk to you soon.

1 Comment

Filed under Musings

One response to “A Week. The Sea. A Poem.

  1. Pingback: Alfred, Lord Tennyson – “In the Garden at Swainston” « Real Poetry

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