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.