Classic Poem

O! 'twas all but a dream at the best —
And still when happiest, soonest o'er:
But e'en in a dream to be blest
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more!
The bosom that opes
With earliest hopes
The soonest finds those hopes untrue;
Like flowers that first
In spring-time burst,
The soonest wither too!
Oh, 'twas all but, &c.

By friendship we've oft been deceived,
And love, even love, too soon is past;
But friendship will still be believed,
And love trusted on to the last;
Like the web in the leaves
The spider weaves,
Is the charm that hangs o'er men —
Tho' oft as he sees
It broke by the breeze,
He weaves the bright line again!
O! 'was all but, &c.