I stand amid the roar, Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand, Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep,Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? I
s all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
Edgar Allan Poe