Edith Södergran: The Rose Altar
I didn’t find love. I met nobody.
Trembling I passed Zarathustra’s grave in the autumn nights:
who on Earth listens to me anymore?
Then an arm were laid lightly around my waist –
I found a sister…
I took her golden locks –
is it you, impossible one?
Is it you?
I see her face and doubt…
Do the gods play such games with us?