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“I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of 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
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of 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?