Henry W. Longfellow

Fata Morgana

 
O sweet illusions of song
    That tempt me everywhere,
In the lonely fields, and the throng
    Of the crowded thoroughfare!
 
I approach and ye vanish away,
    I grasp you, and ye are gone;
But ever by night and by day,
    The melody soundeth on.
 
As the weary traveller sees
    In desert or prairie vast,
Blue lakes, overhung with trees
    That a pleasant shadow cast;
 
Fair towns with turrets high,
    And shining roofs of gold,
That vanish as he draws nigh,
    Like mists together rolled—
 
So I wander and wander along,
    And forever before me gleams
The shining city of song,
    In the beautiful land of dreams.
 
But when I would enter the gate
    Of that golden atmosphere,
It is gone, and I wonder and wait
    For the vision to reappear.
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