Will they not call you dreamer of a dream?

Will they not laugh at you, because you seem

Concerned with words that people often say

And deeds they never do?”

The bright sails of my caravel shook seaward in reply:

“Though I be told

A thousand facts to hold

Me back, though the old boundary

Rise up like hatred in my way,

Though fellow-voyagers cry,

‘A lie!’—

Here as I come with heaven at my side

None of the weary words they say

Remain with me,

I am borne like a wave of the sea

Toward worlds to be....

And, young and bold,

I am happier than they—

The timid unbelievers who grow old!”

She interceded: “How impatient, how unkind

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