This poem has two distinct halves that give me two distinct opinions. The first reminds me of another poem where I thought that Poe wrote like he was delirious because he thought everything in reality was just a dream. I'm not sure if this can be chalked up as depression, though that's similar to how I remember depression: like there's a screen, fog, or some other relationship with reality where you can't quite touch it. The second half of the poem makes me chuckle a little. When he talks about not being able to save a single grain of wet sand seeping through his fingers,

"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?"

Turn your hand up and catch a bunch in your palm, you cry baby and drama queen. I mean this in half-jest, because I don't go around calling people such things, but at the same time it's amazing how over dramatic and unable to see past the next two seconds he can be.

I like the feel of the words and their rhythm, but unfortunately the meanings behind them are about as substantial to me as Poe's ability to hold sand. ( )

فإذا كان الأمل قد طار بعيدا في ليل، أو في نهار ،أو في رؤيا ، أو في عدم ،
أيكون قد ابتعد بدرجة أقل؟
كل ذلك الذي نري أو يبدو ليس إلا حلما بداخل حلم ( )

I enjoyed this work because although it was an older style of writing it was a different challenge. I also liked the meanings in it with dreams and aspirations.