Ulad the Wonder-Smith, who can bridle the winds and the billows,
Can lay waste the greatest of Dûns or build grianâns here in the wilds—
What of all this to me, who am only a man that seeketh,
That seeketh for ever and ever the Soul that is fellow to his—
The Soul that is thee, O Fand, who wert born of flowers ’neath the rainbow,
Breathed with my breath, warmed at my breast, O Fand, whom I love and I worship?
For all things are vain unto me, but one thing only, and that not vain is—
My Dream, my Passion, my Hope, my Fand, whom I won from Hy Bràsil:
O Dream of my life, my Glory, O Rose of the World, my Dream,
Lo, death for Ulad the King, if thou failest, for all that I am of the Danann who die not.