Fíon ní dhéanfar de chaora fíniúna mo cholainne
go satlóidh an fíonadóir orm.
Géillimse m'anam mar chaora fíniúna dá shatailt
chun go luisneoidh mo chroí istigh is chun go rincfidh le háthas.
Fiú is má shileann na caora fíniúna fuil is deora is iad ag sclogaireacht:
"Ní thig liom a thuilleadh a sheasamh, a thuilleadh a fhulaingt"
Sánn an fáiscire cadás ina chluasa: 'Nílimse aineolach ar mo chúram
Séan mé más mian leat, thuigfinn go maith duit,
ach is mise Máistir an tSaothair seo
agus nuair a bhainfidh tú Foirfeacht amach trí bhíthin mo Phaisin-se
molfaidh tú m'ainmse go brách brách na breithe.'
English version by Andrew Harvey
The grapes of my body can only become wine
After the winemaker tramples me.
I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling
So my inmost heart can blaze and dance with joy.
Although the grapes go on weeping blood and sobbing
"I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty"
The trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: "I am not working in ignorance
You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse,
But it is I who am the Master of this Work.
And when through my Passion you reach Perfection,
You will never be done praising my name."
