Quote #24
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.
More from 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.
- He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath h…
- Then some one spake: 'Behold! it was a crime Of sense avenged by sense that wore with time.' Another said: 'The crime of sense became The c…
- We love not this French God, the child of hell, Wild War, who breaks the converse of the wise; But though we love kind Peace so well, We da…
- As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen; One praised her ankles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome …
- I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
- I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men, Who hold their hands to al…
- And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.