“And therefore to-day is thrillingWith a past day's late fulfilling;And the multitudes are enlistedIn the faith that their fathers resisted,And, scorning the dream of to-morrow,Are bringing to pass, as they may,In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,The dream that was scorned yesterday.”

“But we, with our dreaming and singing,Ceaseless and sorrowless we!The glory about us clingingOf the glorious futures we see,Our souls with high music ringing:O men! it must ever beThat we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,A little apart from ye.We are afar with the dawningAnd the suns that are not yet high,And out of the infinite morningIntrepid you hear us cry —How, spite of your human scorning,Once more God's future draws nigh,And already goes forth the warningThat ye of the past must die.Great hail! we cry to the comersFrom the dazzling unknown shore;Bring us hither your sun and your summers;And renew our world as of yore;You shall teach us your song's new numbers,And things that we dreamed not before:Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,And a singer who sings no more.”

“We are the music-makers,And we are the dreamers of dreams...Yet we are the movers and shakers of the world for ever, it seems.”

“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.”

“We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.We rise; one wand'ring thought pollutes the day.We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,The path of its departure still is free.Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;Nought may endure but Mutability!”

“Neither you nor I can know your destiny. You may never know it! Destiny isn't always like a party at the end of the evening. Sometimes it's nothing more than struggling through life from day to day.”

“Wandering, ever wandering, Because life holds not anything so good As to be free of yesterday, and bound Towards a new to-morrow ; and they wend Into a world of unknown faces, where It may be there are faces waiting them, Faces of friendly strangers, not the long Intolerable monotony of friends. The joy of earth is yours, O wanderers, The only joy of the old earth, to wake, As each new dawn is patiently renewed, With foreheads fresh against a fresh young sky. To be a little further on the road, A little nearer somewhere, some few steps Advanced into the future, and removed By some few counted milestones from the past; God gives you this good gift, the only gift That God, being repentant, has to give. Wanderers, you have the sunrise and the stars; And we, beneath our comfortable roofs, Lamplight, and daily fire upon the hearth, And four walls of a prison, and sure food. But God has given you freedom, wanderers.”