And, in parting from you know
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day
In a vision, or in none
Is it therefore less the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream
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?