Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Fata Morgana

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