Be Find, will you come with me to a wondrous land where there is music? Hair is like the blooming primrose there; smooth bodies are the color of snow. There, there is neither mine nor yours; bright are teeth, dark are brows. A delight to the eye the number of our hosts, the colour of foxglove every cheek. The color of the plain-pink every neck, a delight to the eye blackbirds' eggs; though fair to the eye Mag Fail, it is a desert next to Mag Mar. Intoxicating the ale of Inis Fail; more intoxicating by far that of Tir Mar. A wonderful land that I describe: youth does not precede age. Warm, sweet dreams throughout the land, your choice of mead and wine. A distinguished people, without blemish, conceived without sin or crime. We see everyone everywhere, and no one sees us: the darkness of Adam's sin prevents our being discerned. Woman, if you come to my bright people, you will have a crown of gold for your head; honey, wine, fresh milk to drink you will have with me there, Be find.
Midir to Etaine, “The Wooing of Etaine”
