Move eastward, happy earth, and leave O, happy planet, eastward go; Ah, bear me with thee, lightly borne, Dip forward under starry light, And move me to my marriage-morn, BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh 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 the haven under the hill; But oh for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, oh Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He passed by the town, and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place, And chanted a melody loud and sweet, That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet. The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee, The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs, But never a one so gay, For he sings of what the world will be When the years have died away." THE PRINCESS: A MEDLEY. PROLOGUE. SIR WALTER VIVIAN all a summer's day And me that morning Walter showed the house, Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names, |