[6] Ode

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 o'erthrew 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.

          -- Arthur O'Shaughnessy

Another of my favourites - this is truly a poem that sings. The first two
lines, in particular, I rank among the most beautiful I've come across.

A brief biographical note:

The Irish-English singer, Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy, was born in
London in 1844. He was connected, for a while, with the British Museum,
and was transferred later to the Department of Natural History. His first
literary success, Epic of Women (1870), promised a brilliant future for
the young poet, a promise strengthened by his Music and Moonlight (1874).
Always delicate in health, his hopes were dashed by periods of illness and
an early death in London in 1881.

[Ode] is not only O'Shaughnessy's best, but is, because of its perfect
blending of music and message, one of the immortal classics of our verse.

			-- Louis Untermeyer (ed.), 'Modern British Poetry'

From: "Priest, Elnora" <intern6@>

This is a beautiful Poem. I have been looking for a long time for the
complete poem. I think this poem really speaks to me. Thanks for posting it.

Elnora 

From: "Longardner, Curt" <curt.longardner@>

...I came across this poem in its entirety just today by chance.  For years my
wife and I have know it only through the first two lines which are in the
screenplay "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory".  

From: "William Johns" <william_johns@>

[independently submission of same poem]

Don't ask me what this is supposed to mean, but it strikes a chord in me
- perhaps because I have been far too many times accused of being nothing
more than a "dreamer of dreams".  This poem somehow exonerates me.

I found this poem on the back of a box of tea, I forget the brand, but
it was that famous one with all the weird flavours. This came off a box
of Bengal Spice, if I recall.

Bill

From: sandi_ordinario@

Comments on Poem #6, Arthur O'Shaughnessy's Ode

The poet writes a tribute not necessarily just to
poets but to artists in general. He calls them
music-makers, dreamer of dreams. He does not make
any distinction between them making a positive or 
negative impact in their time. Yet heportrays them 
as always controversial (movers and shakers of the 
world forever).

Art can "build up great cities" or fashion an
empire's glory. The power of a dream can conquer a
kingdom or the acceptance of a new "song" can replace
one exhibiting a different style or artform which 
was up to now entrenched.

Dead artists can be attributed to the creation of 
greatness (as Nineveh) thru one extreme of over-riding
emotions, or the conception of Babel in the opposite extreme.
Others overthrow past greatness by the incessant preaching of  
the merits of new artforms until they become fads.

These "out with the old and in with the new" defines
what the poet describes as and an age of a dream dying 
while another one is being birthed.

Sandi

From: phone op <phoneop@>

I attach an even more literal meaning behind the poem. Myth-makers,
storytellers, poets, musicians and writers among other artists have had,
since the birth of civilization, the ability to affect the course of history
to an extent often greater than the mightiest statesman or warrior. It is
often said that history is written by the winner; I would argue that it is
the writer of the history that wins. Ideas are many times more powerful than
actions, demonstrated throughout history as powerful individuals sought to
maintain thier power through harnessing or abolishing any who spoke against
the establishment. One such world-changing example of the power of an idea
and those who spread it can be witnessed in the amazing effect of the
Christian Bible and its proponents throughout the course of the last two
thousand years of western culture. This beautiful piece shouts of the
amazing influence of those oft-overlooked "movers and shakers" who sing the
songs that truly build our empires or destroy them.

-Chandra 

From: Ed <homeguy135@>

No one has mentioned the fact that this poem was the basis for Sir Edward
Elgar's "The Music Makers" for chorus, soloists and orchestra. In it, he
quotes many of his earlier (and probably better) musical works such as The
Enigma Variations theme and "Nimrod" Variation, the two Symphonies and Sea
Pictures in addition to "Rule Brittania" and the Marseilles.

Ed

From: "Jeffery Colkmire" <colkmire@>

From: "William Johns" <william_johns@>



[independently submission of same poem]



Don't ask me what this is supposed to mean, but it strikes a chord in me

- perhaps because I have been far too many times accused of being nothing

more than a "dreamer of dreams".  This poem somehow exonerates me.



I found this poem on the back of a box of tea, I forget the brand, but

it was that famous one with all the weird flavours. This came off a box

of Bengal Spice, if I recall.



Bill





"We are the dreamers of dreams............"



I too have been told this literally all my life.  A daydreamer.



It was on the back of a box of Celestial Seasonings tea.  I don't recall
what my flavor was, but the first two lines of the poem stuck with me for 3
decades before I finally found it again.  Unfortunately, CS tea doesn't
print quotes like this anymore. At least none I've seen.



Jeffery Colkmire

colkmire@

From: "Kalbaugh, James M. GS11" <kalbaugj@>

entire poem ...

We are the music makers, 
And we are the dreamer 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 for ever, 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 earth, 
Built Nineveh with our sighing, 
And Babel itself with our mirth; 
And o'erthrew 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. 
A breath of our inspiration, 
Is the life of each generation. 
A wondrous thing of our dreaming, 
Unearthly, impossible seeming- 
The soldier, the king, and the peasant 
Are working together in one, 
Till our dream shall become their present, 
And their work in the world be done. 
They had no vision amazing 
Of the goodly house they are raising. 
They had no divine foreshowing 
Of the land to which they are going: 
But on one man's soul it hath broke, 
A light that doth not depart 
And his look, or a word he hath spoken, 
Wrought flame in another man's heart. 
And therefore today is thrilling, 
With a past day's late fulfilling. 
And the multitudes are enlisted 
In the faith that their fathers resisted, 
And, scorning the dream of tomorrow, 
Are bringing to pass, as they may, 
In the world, for it's joy or it's sorrow, 
The dream that was scorned yesterday. 
But we, with our dreaming and singing, 
Ceaseless and sorrowless we! 
The glory about us clinging 
Of the glorious futures we see, 
Our souls with high music ringing; 
O men! It must ever be 
That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing, 
A little apart from ye. 
For we are afar with the dawning 
And the suns that are not yet high, 
And out of the infinite morning 
Intrepid you hear us cry- 
How, spite of your human scorning, 
Once more God's future draws nigh, 
And already goes forth the warning 
That ye of the past must die. 
Great hail! we cry to the corners 
From 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 dreamt not before; 
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers, 
And a singer who sings no more. 

From: "Nick Lee" <nick.lee@>

My sincere thanks to James Kalbaugh for giving us the full version of
Arthur O'Shaugnessy's beautiful poem.  It has always been a favourite of
mine, but this is the first time that I have seen it in full.  Having
seen it, I now place O'Shaughnessy among the 'greats, not just as a
poet, but as an inspired visionary.
Nicholas Lee