Though 'Tis All But A Dream

By Thomas Moore

Though 'tis all but a dream at the best,
And still when happiest soonest o'er,
Yet, even 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,
As flowers that first in spring-time burst,
The earliest wither too!

By friendship we oft are deceived,
And find the love we clung to past;
Yet friendship will still be believed
And love trusted on to the last.
The web in the leaves the spider weaves
Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men;
Though often she sees it broke by the breeze,
She spins the bright tissue again.