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,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
Don’t part with your illusions.
When they are gone you may still exist,
but you have ceased to live.