I hail you, “Dreamers”! I pick you out of the crowd,
Out of the surging multitude, that fancies its noise is Life;
Dreamers? must a man be asleep because he cries not aloud;
Is the worth of a man discovered by the force that he gives to strife?

I know you, Dreamers; your cloaks are frayed by the wind;
Empty your scrips; for when did a Dreamer barter for gold his soul?
I know by the way ye stumble on, as if ye were gropers blind;
For why should a dreamer mind the earth, when his eyes have stars for the goal?

I know you, Dreamers; I know by the tongue ye speak;
The tongue which none but Dreamers and Seraphs may ever aspire to learn;
I know by the gleam of the ghost-light in eyes that are strong yet meek;
By the light on your cheeks and lips where the cleansing Seer-coals burn.

I bless you, Dreamers! Oh, wonder not if men jeer;
Was ever a prophet given aught but the scourgers' rod?
If dreamers ye be, ah, Dreamers, would that we, too, might peer
Into that sleep where the earth-free soul is face to face with its God.