Hope

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.