Break, break, break
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me
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!
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!
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
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
Red Vanguard - Break, Break, Break Lyrics
Red Vanguard - Break, Break, Break Lyrics
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English
Break, break, break
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me
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!
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!
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
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
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me
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!
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!
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
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
Writer: Alfred Tennyson
Copyright: Lyrics © MUSIC SALES CORPORATION, O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © MUSIC SALES CORPORATION, O/B/O DistroKid