Dionysus walks his vineyard, his beloved; <br />Two women in dark clothing - two vintagers - follow him. <br />Dionysus tells the two mournful guards - The vintagers: <br />"Take your sharp knife, my vintners, Grief and Torment; <br />Harvest, Grief and Torment, my beloved grapes! <br />Gather the blood of scarlet bunches, the tears of my golden clusters - <br />Take the victim of bliss to the whetstone of grief, <br />The purple of suffering to the whetstone of bliss; <br />Pour the fervent liquid of scarlet delights into my ardent Grail!"<br /><br />Vyacheslav Ivanovich Ivanov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-vineyard-of-dionysus/
