On the hill there was a poor old tramp wandering about with his stick, among the carriages. A mass of rags covered his shoulders, and a squashed beaver-hat, bent down into the shape of a bowl, concealed his face; but, when he took it off, he exposed, instead of eyelids, two yawning bloodstained holes. The flesh was tattered into scarlet strips; and fluid was trickling out, congealing into green crusts that reached down to his nose, with black nostrils that kept sniffing convulsively..
"Dance, when you're broken open.
Dance, if you've torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting..
Dance in your blood.
Dance when you're perfectly free."
â€œDo a loony-goony dance
'Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain't been there before.â€
â€œFaeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.â€