And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea,/ But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.

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 hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!

A light broke in upon my brain, - / It was the carol of a bird; / It ceased, and then it came again, / The sweetest song ear ever heard.

The shell must break before the bird can fly.

And so the Word had breath, and wrought/ With human hands the creed of creeds/ In loveliness of perfect deeds,/ More strong than all poetic thought.