Ode

ODE

by Arthur O'Shaughnessy from Music and Moonlight 

 [Video:  Music Makers by Edgar Elgar, London Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir]

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 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 a kingdom down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself in 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 broken,
A light that doth not depart;
And his look, or a word he hath spoken,
Wrought flame in another man's heart.    
And therefore to-day 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 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 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 comers  
  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 dreamed not before:    
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,
And a singer who sings no more.

For those who have watched "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory" as many times as I have (is at least once a year for the past 20 plus years too often?  I think not . . . ), you'll probably recognize the first two lines of today's poem.  The rest of the text is just as lyrical, although not as whimsical, as the familar opening words; thus, I offer it as today's poem, along with a version of the text set to music by English composer Edward Elgar. 

There is so much I could write about this poem . . . why I've come to love all its lines, not just the first two,  and why I chose it for today (Good Friday on the western church calendar and, after sun down, the beginning of Passover). 

But I won't. 

I think it's a day to let the words of O'Shaughnessy and the music of Elgar speak to you, in the way that many participating in the rituals of their respective traditions this day will let the poetry and music speak to them-- without interpretation. 

But if you'd care to share your interpretation or experiences, I'd love to read them . . .