FROM RICKY

              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 vanish'd hand,

             And the sound of a voice that is still!

            Break, break, break

            At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

 

                                Lord Alfred Tennyson

 

 

( photos from my Hawaiian Holiday Collection-vdc)