The Gossamer

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The Gossamer
by Charlotte Smith

Over faded heath-flowers spun, or thorny furze,
The filmy gossamer is lightly spread;
Waving in every sighing air that stirs,
As fairy fingers had entwined the thread:
A thousand trembling orbs of lucid dew
Spangle the texture of the fairy loom,
As if soft sylphs, lamenting as they flew,
Had wept departed summer's transient bloom:
But the wind rises, and the turf receives
The glittering web:--So, evanescent, fade
Bright views that youth with sanguine heart believes:
So vanish schemes of bliss, by fancy made;
Which, fragile as the fleeting dews of morn,
Leave but the withered heath, and barren thorn!