Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.
A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
The song that nerves a nation's heart is in itself a deed.
Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
But while I breathe Heaven's air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.