Ode

We are the music makers,
And we are the reamers of dreams,
Wandering by long sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful dethless ditties
We build up the wold's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory;
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new son'gs measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying, 
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Ninevah with our singing
And babel itself with our mirth.
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
to the old of the new world's worht;
For each eage is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.



-Arthur O'Shaughnessy.