Edith Södergran: The September Lyre
I transform the snakes into angels.
Raise your heads! Rise onto your tails!
A second… and nobody hisses anymore.
Blessed they lay at my feet,
intoxicated by dreams, and kiss the folds of my cloak.
I touch the lyre. A wind passes over the Earth,
silent, solemn, in tears,
it kisses beauty’s lifeless, marble white statues on the lips,
so that they open their eyes.
I am Orpheus. I can sing as I please.
Everything is allowed for me.
Tiger, panther, cougar follow my steps
to my rock block in the forest.