The Summer Webs.

A poem by Thomas Moore

The summer webs that float and shine,
The summer dews that fall,
Tho' light they be, this heart of mine
Is lighter still than all.
It tells me every cloud is past
Which lately seemed to lour;
That Hope hath wed young Joy at last,
And now's their nuptial hour!

With light thus round, within, above,
With naught to wake one sigh,
Except the wish that all we love
Were at this moment nigh,--
It seems as if life's brilliant sun
Had stopt in full career,
To make this hour its brightest one,
And rest in radiance here.

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