Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me

Give thy thoughts no tongue.

The shell must break before the bird can fly.

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.

The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.

Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dealer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts.