And， in parting from you now，
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 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？