Innocents - into what prisons are ye flung?
To what lowliness are ye bowed?
How are you ground between the laws and the customs?
The dark people of Fomor have ye in thrall; and upon your minds they have fastened a band of lead, your hearts are hung with iron, and about your loins a cincture of brass impressed, woeful!
Believe it, that the sun does shine, the flowers grow, and the birds sing pleasantly in the trees. The free winds are everywhere, the water tumbles on the hills, the eagle calls aloud through the solitude, and his mate comes, speedily.
…Come away! come away from the cubicle, the screen and the desk, from the shop where the carcasses hang, from the broker's den and the lawyers' offices…come away for the dance has begun lightly, the wind is sounding over the hill, the sun laughs in the valley, the sea leaps on the sand, panting for joy, dancing, dancing, dancing