by Edgar Allan Poe

   Take this kiss upon the brow!
   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?

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