We 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
Upon whom the pale moon gleams
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world'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 song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth
Built Nineveh with our sighing
And Babel itself with our mirth
And overthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth
For each age is a dream that is dying
Or one that is coming to birth.
