Take this kiss upon the brow! 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 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! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
Timothy Thomas Fortune
I know not why, but it is true—it may, In some way, be because he was a child Of the fierce sun where I first wept and smiled— I love the dark-browed Poe. His feverish day Was spent in dreams inspired, that him beguiled, When not along his path shone forth one ray Of light, of hope, to guide him on the way, That to earth's cares he might be reconciled. Not one of all Columbia's tuneful choir Has pitched his notes to such a matchless key As Poe—the wizard of the Orphic lyre! Not one has dreamed, has sung, such songs as he, Who, like an echo came, an echo went, Singing, back to his mother element.