I stand amid the roarOf a surf-tormented shore,And I hold within my handGrains of the golden sand-How few! yet how they creepThrough my fingers to the deep,While I weep- while I weep!O God! can I not graspThem with a tighter clasp?O God! can I not saveOne from the pitiless wave
by Edgar Allan Poe
(0 Reviews)

In this evocative excerpt by Edgar Allan Poe, the speaker finds themselves on a tumultuous shore, overwhelmed by the relentless sound of crashing waves. They are holding a handful of golden sand, representing fleeting moments or precious experiences that are slipping away almost effortlessly through their fingers. The imagery of the sand symbolizes the transitory nature of life and how easily we can lose what we treasure.

The speaker expresses a deep sense of sorrow as they struggle to hold onto these grains, lamenting their inability to grasp them more firmly. The repetition of their weeping highlights a feeling of helplessness in the face of inevitable loss. The plea to save even one grain from being consumed by the waves captures the desperation of trying to cling to something beautiful yet ephemeral, reflecting human sorrow over loss and the passage of time.

Stats

Categories
Votes
0
Page views
1
Update
February 04, 2025

Rate the Quote

Add Comment & Review

User Reviews

Based on 0 reviews
5 Star
0
4 Star
0
3 Star
0
2 Star
0
1 Star
0
Add Comment & Review
We'll never share your email with anyone else.
More »

Popular quotes

My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?
by David Mitchell
Small towns are like metronomes; with the slightest flick, the beat changes.
by Mitch Albom
Look, if you say that science will eventually prove there is no God, on that I must differ. No matter how small they take it back, to a tadpole, to an atom, there is always something they can't explain, something that created it all at the end of the search. And no matter how far they try to go the other way – to extend life, play around with the genes, clone this, clone that, live to one hundred and fifty – at some point, life is over. And then what happens? When the life comes to an end? I shrugged. You see? He leaned back. He smiled. When you come to the end, that's where God begins.
by Mitch Albom
A half-read book is a half-finished love affair.
by David Mitchell
You say you should have died instead of me. But during my time on earth, people died instead of me, too. It happens every day. When lightning strikes a minute after you are gone, or an airplane crashes that you might have been on. When your colleague falls ill and you do not. We think such things are random. But there is a balance to it all. One withers, another grows. Birth and death are part of a whole.
by Mitch Albom
Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.
by David Mitchell
Travel far enough, you meet yourself.
by David Mitchell
The pollenless trees were genomed to repel bugs and birds; the stagnant air reeked of insecticide.
by David Mitchell
A random sequence of seemingly unrelated events.
by David Mitchell
People pontificate, "Suicide is selfishness." Career churchmen like Pater go a step further and call in a cowardly assault on the living. Oafs argue this specious line for varying reason: to evade fingers of blame, to impress one's audience with one's mental fiber, to vent anger, or just because one lacks the necessary suffering to sympathize. Cowardice is nothing to do with it - suicide takes considerable courage. Japanese have the right idea. No, what's selfish is to demand another to endure an intolerable existence, just to spare families, friends, and enemies a bit of soul-searching.
by David Mitchell