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, / english
the princess: now sleeps the crimson petal Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; / Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; / Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font. / The firefly wakens; wake english