*To me the poem represents the transitory, ephemeral nature of time and our existence. When we meet a lover it's is like we pick up a handful of sand and as the years go por the sand slowly creeps through our fingers. No matter how hard or how desperately you try, you cannot stop the cascading sand, until you and your lover dividido, dividir and the last grain of sand has fallen. Then all you have left is a memory. And when you and your ex-lover pass on that memory is lost in time: like a dream within a dream. The segundo half seems to be about our own mortality and the nature of our existence. Once the last grain of sand has fallen into the pitiless wave, you're gone forever.200 years into the future no one will remember you. Your life, your hopes and dreams, your accomplishments and triumphs, will be lost in time like a dream within a dream.
*Life is vague, like a mist..our existence is fleeting. Whether brief or longlived, nevertheless, it remains to be just a few grains of the golden sand, everyday slipping through our grasp..before we know it..it is almost/ or is over..and all our pertinent and pressing important achivements, hopes and dreams and aspirations (whether you are a great person, politician, a movie estrela or a nobody) during our lifetime is now nothing mais than a memory, a myth or legend, like a dream with a dream, soon it is pffft finito, gone done, forgotten.
*Life is vague, like a mist..our existence is fleeting. Whether brief or longlived, nevertheless, it remains to be just a few grains of the golden sand, everyday slipping through our grasp..before we know it..it is almost/ or is over..and all our pertinent and pressing important achivements, hopes and dreams and aspirations (whether you are a great person, politician, a movie estrela or a nobody) during our lifetime is now nothing mais than a memory, a myth or legend, like a dream with a dream, soon it is pffft finito, gone done, forgotten.
One of the superb stories of Poe that relates to reincarnation (aka 'Transmigration') is 'A Tale of The Ragged Mountains.
Let's see if I have done Mr. Poe honor.
Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless --
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, por no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, por no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye --
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave: -- from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep: -- from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless --
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, por no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, por no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye --
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave: -- from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep: -- from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.