.

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?


Is all that we see or seem


But a dream within a dream?



Edgar Allan Poe