An T-ull

An t-ull

Blas na fhomair

Corcairdhearg las

Réalta i na chroi

Comharta do mo creideamh

Finscéal glaoite sé nimh;

Ag mealladh an chéad Chríostaí,

Marbh a Sneachta Bán,

Ach a Mé tá tú ghrá;

Beannaithe a Ceilteach, fadó

Anois, beannaithe a cailleachí

Amach t-am, amach ait,

Nil tuíghe, amhail muid

Taispeánaimis tá muid milseán, ní goirt,

Líon ó ghrá, ní marbh,

B’fhéidir togradh muid blas saoirse faoi dheireadh

Beo i ghrá foirfe, agus cúram faoirfe

Go deo

Apple,

Taste of autumn

Crimson blush

Star in the heart

Sign of my faith

Legend called you poison;

Tempting the first Christian,

The death of Snow White

To me you are love;

Sacred to the Celts, long ago

Now sacred to witches

Out of time, out of place,

Misunderstood, like us,

Let us show we are sweet, not bitter,

Full of love, not death,

Perhaps we will taste freedom at last

In perfect love, and perfect trust

Forever