'Twas but a dream! and oh! what are they all, <br />All the fond visions hope's bright finger traces, <br />All the fond visions time's dark wing effaces, <br />But very dreams! but morning buds, that fall <br />Withered and blighted, long before the night: <br />Strewing the paths they should have made more bright, <br />With mournful wreaths, whose light hath past away, <br />That can return to life and beauty never, <br />And yet, of whom it was but yesterday, <br />We deemed they'd bloom as fresh and fair for ever. <br />Oh then, when hopes, that to thy heart are dearest, <br />Over the future shed their sunniest beam, <br />When round thy path their bright wings hover nearest, <br />Trust not too fondly!—for 'tis but a dream!<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-90/
