Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags

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,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O 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 O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

Dear old Alfred Lord Tennyson, rather gloomy and melodramatic at times, and it wasn't that kind of weather down at Porth Mawr.

The Welsh name does not mean white sands but Whitesands it is in English. Porth is port, harbour or sometimes gate or gateway. Mawr is big or large.

The waves were certainly large today and the spume was blowing up the beach in the strong wind.