Break, Break, Break, Break, break, break On thy cold grey stones, 0 Sea! And I would th

at my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. 0 well for the fisherman s boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! 0 well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But 0 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, 0 Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Questions:

Who is the author of the poem？