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.
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.