Edith Södergran: The Rose Altar
I saw beauty.
It was my fate! It explains everything.
How thank for it?
Fresh roses, picked with warm hands,
I lay every single day
in front of your statue
so your smile can find rest.
Where do I find roses
that don’t offend my dreams?
It is my lot –
every day to go with roses for my queen
and lie sobbing at her feet…
When shall I rise light as a feather
to fetch the rose, the only one,
the one which never dies?