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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.

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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