DREAMER-OF-THE-AGE
We come from everlasting
Towards eternity,
Ho! not in dirge and fasting
But lapped in jollity.
Though sackcloth be our clothing
We bear no ash but fire.
We have no sickly loathing
Of youth and youth's desire.
We prize no consummation
Of one peculiar creed.
We travel for a nation,
The one that feels our need.
Our tongue conceals no message,
But leaves you free to find,
And vaunts itself the presage
Of those that come behind.