by Abbie Farwell Brown
Oh, they spread out their silver webs
Upon the moonlit grass,
Their wee bright webs of faerie,
To catch the Dreams that pass.
The wistful dream that stole from me
And crept away to you,
They tangled it in glistering knots
Of witchery and dew.
And whisht! Your bashful little thought,
So innocent and bright,
Got trapped in that same silver web
And kept with mine all night.
Then ah! Whatever shall we do
Upon to-morrow day,
Our dreams are snared together so
And cannot slip away?