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 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.
2 comments:
Hello Susan,
I stumbled across your blog searching for a long lost friend from S.C. Glad that I did!
What a courageous blog. I went back to read your very first post: "I am stuck." And the quote from King John. There is indeed this unshakeable "thing" that follows us around, and we are simultaneously at a loss for words, and strongly compelled to speak, to write, to hear.
Thanks so much for stepping out into the blogging universe - it's scary, but it can be a healing place also.
Thanks for this Sunday morning gift. Headed out to the nursing homes later today - where sometimes I just need to learn to sit. And listen. To someone who sometimes just wants to sit. And not talk.
Peace,
B.R.
Very beautiful blog :)
http://valentinapi.blogspot.it/
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