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 grasp?
O God!
Can I not save one from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?