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.