[...]
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of golden sand-
How few! Yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep, while I weep!
O God! Can not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seen
But a dream within a dream?
E. A. Poe
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