Edith Södergran: The Rose Altar
No, no, no shout all the echoes in the forest.
I have no sister.
I am lifting her white silk gown as I walk
and dye it powerlessly.
I kiss you, my suffering I place in you,
do you remember her rosy limbs?
Her shoes are left in the sun,
the gods warm their hands on them.
Oh snow, fall on the remains of my sister.
Blizzard, whirl your bitter-heavy heart over them.
With a tremor I tread on the spot,
the nasty spot where beauty was buried.