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 nigh an 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 wander and wait
        For the vision to reappear.


facebook share button twitter share button google plus share button tumblr share button reddit share button email share button share on pinterest pinterest

Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add Fata Morgana to your own personal library.

Return to the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Finale - The Wayside Inn - Part Third

Anton Chekhov
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Susan Glaspell
Mark Twain
Edgar Allan Poe
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
Herman Melville
Stephen Leacock
Kate Chopin
Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson