When wand’ring ways my thoughts again do yearn,
long since the moon has ceased its sleepy sight,
A melody I hear begins to turn.
Ghostly and light spinning soft through the night.

While circling through midnight streets, it calls
for one among the sleepless few to catch.
Flickering hymns like shadows on a wall
Though might they try, no human sound can match.

And as for me, how can I hope to find
A mode of capture for this distant tune;
a bottle for this ethereal wine?
The song, though, falters; morning comes too soon.

Each night I reach in vain with outstretched hand,
yet through my grasping fingers falls the sand.

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