Ode
¶W E are the music-makers,And we are the dreamers of dreams,Wandering by lone sea-breakers,And sitting by desolate streams;World-losers and world-forsakers,On whom the pale moon gleams:Yet we are the movers and shakersOf the world for ever, it seems.
¶With wonderful deathless dittiesAnd out of a fabulous storyWe build up the world's great cities,We fashion an empire's glory:[1199]One man with a dream, at pleasure,Shall go forth and conquer a crown;And three with a new song's measureCan trample an empire down.
¶We, in the ages lyingIn the buried past of the earth,Built Nineveh with our sighing,And Babel itself with our mirth;And o'erthrew them with prophesyingTo the old of the new world's worth;For each age is a dream that is dying,Or one that is coming to birth.