Tho' '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!

    Ay—'tis all but a dream, etc.

Tho' by friendship we oft are deceived,

  And find love's sunshine soon o'ercast,

Yet friendship will still be believed.

  And love trusted on to the last.

    The web 'mong the leaves

    The spider weaves

Is like the charm Hope hangs o'er men;

    Tho' often she sees

    'Tis broke by the breeze,

She spins the bright tissue again.

    Ay—'tis all but a dream, etc.