I can be felt, but never grasped. I can be heard, but never seen. I can be chased, but never caught. I can be calm, yet still cause ruin. What am I?

Silky, still, sublime; Artwork abandoned, alone, Covering corners.

Long neck, silk-white coat, I glide like a boat, Sometimes black, sometimes trumpeting note. Cygnet turned beauty, mate for life I fawn What elegant water-dancer am I?

I shimmer, I vanish, I barely stay, I can light up the dark, then fade away.

Remove my first and last, and you have a poetic, rhythmic style of music. Mash my body, collect my blood, put it in a barrel, and let it age. Colors aplenty, sizes too; some like me dried, but drinking is more fun.