Take this kiss upon the brow
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me promise,
You are not wrong, who thinks
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 during the roar
of a surf-tormented shore,
and I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How little? Yet how they slowly fall
through my fingers to the deep
while I cry- while I cry!
O God! Can I not hold
them with a tighter grip?
O God! Can I not save
one from the cruel wave?
Is all that we see or seem
but a dream within a dream?