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Coigil do bhrí,
A fhir an dáin,
Coigil faoi thrí,
Bí i do chrann.
Coigil gach ní,
A fhir an dáin,
Ná bog ná lúb
Roimh anfa an cháis.
Fan socair,
Fan teann,
Is fair an uain
Go dtaga do lá.
Corraíodh an ghaoth,
A fhir na laoithe,
Gach duille ort thuas;
Do stoc bíodh buan.
Uaigneach crann
I lár na coille,
Uaigneach file
Thar gach duine.
Daingean crann
I dtalamh suite,
Cosa i dtaca
Cuir, a fhile!
Coigil do chlí,
Coigil d’ aird,
Coigil gach slí
I gcomhair an dáin.
Tá do leath baineann,
A fhir an dáin,
Bí fireann, bí slán,
Bí i do chrann.
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Man who makes poems,
Keep back their true import,
Conceal by three
Be as a tree,
Gather in all that’s known,
Man who makes poems,
Don’t stir, don’t bend
Before this present tempest.
Stay steady,
Unswaying,
Watching the weather
Until the right day.
Let the wind disarray,
Maker of lays,
All your outer foliage;
Your trunk don’t budge.
A tree is alone
In the wood’s midst,
Among people a poet
Above all is loneliest.
A tree is steadfast
In its portion of land,
Poet, set yourself, man,
Take a stand!
Save your frame,
Gather your knowing,
Focus in every way
Prepared for the poem.
Maker of poems,
You are half womanly,
Be male, be whole,
Be as a tree.
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