Break, break, break
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.
-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)
3 comments:
i love that you read.
i love that you think.
i'm only a random stranger to you, but i read, and i pray, and i mourn.
may there be grace in your garden,
generous hands to hold you.
and neither you nor your brother
are forgotten.
Thank you for your kindness and prayers.
Thanks, Jan, for finding words that express our feelings in the loss of Dan.
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