Part 13 (2/2)

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 sh.o.r.e,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand-

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

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