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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Fata Morgana. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Third)
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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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