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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?