---

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.

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