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