Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
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,