Dionysus walks his vineyard, his beloved;
Two women in dark clothing - two vintagers - follow him.
Dionysus tells the two mournful guards - The vintagers:
"Take your sharp knife, my vintners, Grief and Torment;
Harvest, Grief and Torment, my beloved grapes!
Gather the blood of scarlet bunches, the tears of my golden clusters -
Take the victim of bliss to the whetstone of grief,
The purple of suffering to the whetstone of bliss;
Pour the fervent liquid of scarlet delights into my ardent Grail!"
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
In other terms, be moderated, don't drink too much alcohol.It first entices you, makes you feel on cloud number nine, and then you become addicted, and though you feel the danger you can hardly step back.Wise poem.