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 i ever had just fades away, The only memory left, is of our special day. 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! My dear! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? My dear! can I not save One from the pitiless waves? But the only one i really need to save, While struggling with the ruthless waves, From drowning in these endless shores Is this one important grain of yours.