Edith Södergran: The September Lyre
I will be straight-forward –
therefore I don’t care for noble styles
and roll up my sleeves.
The dough of the poem swells…
Oh, what a sorrow –.
to not be able to bake cathedrals…
The greatness of the forms –
the goal of the persistent longing.
Present-child,
is your soul without its proper shell?
Before I die
I’ll bake a cathedral.
