1. We are the Dreamers of Dreams,
We're the creators of fancies; ...
We are whatever it seems, ...
The owners of reason that dances.
We are the Dreamers of Dreams.
2. We tread the paths that are vagrant,
And we do the deeds that are flagrant, ...
But ever, without any goad, ...
We find our way back to the road.
We are the Dreamers of Dreams.
3. For we are the Dreamers of Dreams, etc.
And to the amazement of all, the Stranger did not hesitate a moment. "Certainly," said he. "I believe in fancies." And this is what he sang:
THE DREAMERS OF DREAMS
We are the Dreamers of Dreams;
We are the creatures of fancies;
We are—whatever it seems,—
The owners of reason that dances,
We are the Dreamers of Dreams.
We tread in the paths that are vagrant,
And we do the deeds that are flagrant;
But ever without any goad,
We find our way back to the road.
For we are the Dreamers of Dreams;
We are the creatures of fancies;
We are—whatever it seems,—
The owners of reason that dances,
We are the Dreamers of Dreams.
CHAPTER VIII
ALAN MACGREGOR'S BROWN LEG
One whose presence aided in promoting a healthful mental atmosphere among those so constrained to be together was a lady perhaps thirty years of age who bore herself with the air of a school-teacher, but decidedly with the manner of one whom her pupils would more love than fear. She laughingly alluded to herself as the Teacher and, by common consent, this had become her designation. It was she, most well-informed and reflective of ladies, who, after the applause following the Stranger's song had barely died away, advanced a proposition involving immediately and deeply a tanned, good-looking man who, as was known, had been engaged in the work of collecting rare orchids in South America.