Mirage

Deem ye the veiling vision will abide— The marvel, and the glamor, and the dream Which lies in light upon the barren world ? . . . The wings of Phoenix towering to the sun, Nor opals, nor the morning foam, may hold The hueful light that as from faery moons Is mirrored on the sand; where many a time, From fields that hem with golden asphodel A river like a dragon coiled in light, Rise to the noon the hovering minarets And soaring walls of cities Ilion-like, Till the dim winds are hung with palaces Of orient madreperl. For ever lost— Like sunset on a land of old romance— The splendor fails, and leaves the traveller In bournless deserts flaunting to the day.